The Devil's Son
by SevFanFictions
Summary: Severus divulges the dark terrors of his childhood at the hands of a violent and drunken father. The grim recesses of his past boiled down to his most ghastly experiences. . .
1. Part I: Age Five I

**Disclaimer:**  
I own nothing created and or mentioned, by J.K. Rowling, in the books of Harry Potter. This story is a product intended for enjoyment not financial gain.

**Rating: M**  
Child abuse; Language content; Underage drinking

*****This fanfiction has multiple graphic descriptions of child abuse, read at own discretion.*****

* * *

It is a common occurrence, within adulthood, to reflect back on the days of one's childhood. It is typical, when contemplating such a thing, to experience a sense of warmth; a fondness for the memories cherished there. One would assume that childhood would contain a scarce amount of affairs that would inspire dread over tenderness. This assumption would be correct in most general cases. The majority of juvenility is abundant with family bonding, celebratory conventions, compassionate prosperity, and all abounded with affection. When I excogitate my own journey through the depths of childhood and adolescence I find that my experiences were—less than satisfying. . .

It was always cold in Cokesworth, even in the summer the temperature failed to linger at anything over a mere fifty-eight degrees. The clouds, ever persistent, hung in constant despair, enveloping the many neighborhoods in a dim saturation that only a boggart could genuinely appreciate. The consistent chill that clung in the air, inspired from regional weather or poverty, relinquished an immutable depression that seemed unwilling to abandon the several inhabitants of the forlorn city. Out of all the participating neighborhoods, out of all the unappealing streets, Spinner's End was counted among the most dismal.

The rows of identical dilapidated houses, stood in a line, cowering before the colossal factory that towered in the distance. The streets, forever hazed by the smog puffed from the dominating chimneys of the mill, were littered with trash and illegal paraphernalia, stretching for blocks to create a network of crime and other unpleasant agenda. Each home; each family who lived on that forsaken road seemed to be plagued by their own specific asperity and predicaments. None, however, measured up to the acrimonious nature of the Snape family. My family. . .

It's difficult to pinpoint a specific place in time where my family went feral and decided to throw decent behavior out the window. Perhaps it was the time I was born. Maybe before then, when my parents married. Perhaps it had always been that way. I don't pretend to know. Feasibly, it was because my mother and father were simply bitter, unpleasant people thus finding one another in this already cruel world, relishing each other's bleak dispositions. Savoring the fact that they weren't the only ones on this god forsaken planet that saw things for how they truly were: shit. Although I don't know when the deprivation of my family manifested I do recollect, specifically and quite vividly, when circumstances churned for me individually. Even though many decades have come and gone, my being five at the time, I can recall, with exquisite detail, the events where my affairs at home became macabre and, for lack of a better term, frightening.

I lay prone in the sitting room, my head propped by my elbows, watching the telly with the fascination only a toddler could accomplish. Colors flashed about my face, illuminating shadows, and making intricate shapes on the wall. The glow of the television often entrapped the dark room in the late hours of the evening, as there were strict rules that I was not allowed to leave the house after six. With not much to do in my home I had little choices for suitable remedies for my constant boredom. I would usually spend my evenings reading small books I'd read and been read to countless times, or I watched the television.

Mother stood in the meager kitchen, stirring a steaming pot and gazing vacantly at the far wall. She would often have moments where she would glare at an object, not really seeing it, spacing out for long periods of time before she would snap back into reality and bark at me to go brush my teeth, or send me to bed. Never mind if it was only three in the afternoon. When she wasn't yelling at me or being pushed around by Father I suppose she was a pleasant woman—perhaps not.

The familiar thud of my father's heavy work boots pounding up the porch filled the room. This was always followed by the jingle of keys before the grating of the pins in the lock clicked and turned, allowing Tobias to fling open the door, scowling intently as he lumbered in. He would throw his keys on the table beside the front door, put down his work bag, and walk past the telly, going straight for the kitchen.

I would hear the fridge open, the clinking of bottles, the hum of the refrigerator's fan until the sucking smack of the blasted thing closing. Father sat upon the couch that I usually always laid next to. His eyes would scan the television almost like he was contemplating whether he would continue watching what was currently on or change the channel. He always changed the channel. Leaning over me, he would flip the knob until something dreadfully mundane would flash upon the television like football or the home improvement channel.

"Don't wanna watch that," I would always whine. I was extraordinarily whiney as a young child. Perhaps that's why Father was irritated with me ninety percent of the time.

"Then sod off to your room," he would snap, mumbling how he had worked so many hours that day and he didn't need me 'pissing and moaning' at him.

"Want to watch the volcanoes," I said, pushing myself up off the floor, reaching my hand towards the channel knob.

"Severus, you touch that thing and you're going to be in big trouble."

"But I wanna watch the volcanoes," I pouted, as I dropped my outstretched hand back into my lap.

"That's too damn bad," he retorted, his jaw clenching. He was getting agitated. Agitation was always the first sign. He would grow agitated, then angry, then violent. It was an equation of emotions that I hadn't put together yet, but one day would know all too well.

"But I was here first!" I cried.

"I couldn't care less if you were here first, Boy, now shut up!"

I recall shrinking away slightly.

"What is it with you?" He barked at me. "I tell you no and you keep pestering me! No means no, Severus!"

I sat in the middle of the living room, glaring at my knees, wallowing in my frustration. I was angry, it only made sense. I was there first; I was watching the volcano show. It was only fair we resumed watching what I wanted.

"Daddy?"

"Shut up, Boy," he said dangerously before bringing his ale up to his lips. "Christ, Eileen is that stew ready yet?"

"Ten minutes," Mother's strained voice came from the kitchen.

"Ten minutes?" Tobias roared, pushing himself off the couch and storming out of the sitting room to tell my mother how incompetent she was and how it wasn't too much to ask to have dinner waiting for him upon his arrival home from work.

I happily turned the channel back to the volcanoes, repositioning myself back on my stomach, propping my elbows on the floor and resting my head in my hands. Pictures of a tropical place were on the television and I found myself quite fascinated with them. I recollect thinking about how nice it might have been to have been born on one of those Hawaiian Islands they were talking about on the television. I would be able to climb the volcanoes, look at all the plants, run in the jungle, swim (although I could not swim at the time) in the warm water and a number of other things I couldn't do in England.

My fantasies were interrupted when Father came back into the living room to see that I had changed the channel back from football.

"What did I tell you, huh?" He asked grabbing my upper arm and swinging me around to face him. "What was I just telling you?"

"T-to not change the channel," I stuttered quietly, my pulse pounding in my ears as fear captured my heart.

"And ya did it anyhow!" Tobias shrieked. "When I tell you not to do something, I mean it!"

"I wanted to watch the volcanoes," I reminded him quietly. As if it was a justification for disobeying him.

"I don't care about the fucking volcanoes, you stupid brat!" He yelled, throwing me from his grasp.

I stumbled back from him quickly tripping over my feet as I went crashing to the ground. I fell with a painful thud, panting slightly from fear and anger as I glared up at him.

"Wipe that look off your face, Boy, or I swear to God I will beat it off with a—"

That's when the television exploded.

I don't know who screamed louder: me, Father, or Mother. Eileen walked into the sitting room as Tobias was fanning the excess of smoke away.

"Open the window," he snapped at me.

I slowly pushed myself off the ground and walked to the window. The latch was stuck and I couldn't seem to get it open. My fingers pried, but the lock refused to give way. My mother came up behind me, freed the latch easily and opened the window. I stared up at her with gratitude although I wasn't sure why. It was just a window, but I believe I felt safer with her in the room with me.

"What the?" Tobias was muttering as he inspected the smoking television. "What the hell caused it to just blow up like that?"

"Perhaps we should phone the fire department," Eileen suggested. She knew calling the fire department was the muggle thing to do. It had been five years she had kept our world a secret from her husband. Alas, I'm sure she knew, I would be giving her away sooner or later.

"We're not calling the ruddy fire department," Father growled as he sat crouched before the smoldering box.

Then he rounded on me.

"What did you do?" He accused, standing as he spoke.

He hadn't a clue I was a wizard, yet he still believed a five year old blew up his television. You could almost admire his persistence. The immaturity of that man can almost be referred to as endearing. Never mind that I truly did blow up the television, there was simply no proof.

"I just changed the channel," I protested fearfully.

"And I told you not to, didn't I?" He roared grabbing my upper arms as he shook me firmly. He appeared to be somewhat deluded to the fact that changing channels didn't cause televisions to erupt.

"Stop it, Toby," Mother said quietly.

"Well, he was the last one to touch it!" Father snapped at her.

"Changing the channel doesn't cause televisions to explode," Mother reminded him.

"He was the last one to touch it!" He reiterated.

"He didn't wreck it!" Mother argued. She was looking extremely exasperated although I'm sure she was feeling rather weary and shaken.

"This wretch's done it— I'm getting my belt," he said turning and dragging me towards the hall.

"I didn't do it!" I screamed, trying to pry his hand off of my arm as I stumbled to keep up with his lengthier strides.

"Yes, you did!" Tobias snapped.

"He didn't do it! How could he have done it?"Mother said, obviously fuming.

"Move it, Boy!" Father ordered as he picked me up and placed me in front of him. "Up the stairs, go!"

I know this was the point where I began to cry. I wasn't sure if I had destroyed the television. I wasn't certain if I deserved the punishment I was about to get doled. What I was sure of was that I didn't enjoy taking Father's belt. I had only invoked the wrath of his harsh accessory once before for trying to drink the kerosene from my mother's desk lamp when I was three. Accidentally poisoning myself and allegedly blowing up the television must be on the same level according to Tobias.

"Stand there," Father growled as we entered his and my mother's bedroom. I stood in the center silently crying, my hands clenched into fists. There was nothing I could do to evade the situation. Mother had followed us in and was standing by the door, chewing her thumb nail, and muttering about Tobias 'getting it together'.

"Shut up Eileen, I know he's done it!" My father howled.

My father's instincts were correct, but it was unfounded of how a five-year old could have completed such a feat. The impossible didn't seem to phase Tobias. He went to his closet and pulled out his woven black belt. He was wrapping the metal buckle about his hand as he walked towards my crying, trembling form.

Time froze as I heard the faint whistle of the belt coming at my back. I closed my eyes in anticipation, waiting for the burning sear of the leather connecting with my body. I waited, but the pain never came, the belt never hit. There was a gasp and a thud before I opened my eyes to see my father staring at me like I was some kind of ghost. I peered down at the ground, expecting to see the belt, but saw a harmless garden snake slithering about the floor. I moved my gaze towards my mother who was also looking at the snake, trying to ignore the fact that magic had just taken place right in front of her.

"Shit," Tobias breathed, looking at me like I needed to be eradicated from the earth. "Wha-what the— what was that, Severus, huh?"

"I didn't want the belt," I remember saying. As if that was explanation enough as to how I had transfigured a belt into a snake.

"How did you do it?" He asked me, not moving an inch towards me. I believe he was already too close for his own comfort.

"I didn't want the belt," I repeated as a matter of fact. It wasn't a lie as far as I was concerned. All I knew was I didn't want it and then it was gone.

"You're damned," Tobias whispered with enough scrutiny that mother saw it fit to jump in.

"He's not damned, Tobias."

"Did ya not just see what he's done?"

I was staring up at the two of them, quite nervous that they would make me live on the street from hence forth for being an abomination. There was no denying that something was different about me and father wasn't partial to it. . .

* * *

**Author's Note:** I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of The Devil's Son.


	2. Part I: Age Five II

**Disclaimer:**  
I own nothing created and or mentioned, by J.K. Rowling, in the books of Harry Potter. This story is a product intended for enjoyment not financial gain.

**Rating: M**  
Child abuse; Language content; Underage drinking

*****This fanfiction has multiple graphic descriptions of child abuse, read at own discretion.*****

* * *

Father took a menacing step forward, his eyes ricocheting from the snake on the floor and then straight at me. I hadn't a clue how I had dodged my punishment and also, in the same instance, transfigured a belt into a snake. I was terrified, not only of what my father might do but of myself as well. It was a total mystery how I had managed to do what I had just done. First the television and now the belt. Something strange was definitely occurring but I hadn't a clue what that something was. I really had no true concept of normalcy at the time (or any time in my life for that matter) but I did have the social grace to know that what I had just witnessed (or performed) was not normal.

My father's and my gaze locked for a moment as he stepped on the serpent with a piercing crunch and stood before me. I quickly diverted my attention to the floor, fear rapidly taking over. I glared down at his shoes as I heard a heavy sigh escape my father's lips.

"_What the hell was that_?"

"What?" I asked, my fear rendering my mind into an oblivion. I immediately hated myself for asking such an obvious question.

"The belt, you little fool," Father snapped, grabbing my arms in a vice.

He did that often for emphasis. When Tobias wished to make a point with, shall we say glitz and glamor, he would grab one's upper arms in excitement or whatever emotion he was experiencing. He did this to me, to my mother, even to my grandmother and grandfather. He did it when he was angry, when he was amused, when he was despondent, or even just because he damn well felt like it.

"Um, I don't know," I whispered meekly.

"What do you mean _you_ _don't know_? How in the hell could you not know? The thing was a belt and now it's a snake for fuck's sake! What did you do?!" He roared as he jerked me viciously.

"It just happened!" I argued. "I didn't do anything!"

"You're the devil!" He spat, throwing me from him.

I faltered a few steps, tears in my eyes as I glared down at the floor once more. Maybe I was the devil, it didn't seem so farfetched. I did blow up the T.V. and conjure up a snake in the same evening. Perhaps I truly was damned.

"He's not the devil, Toby," Mother had interjected, her voice oozing with exasperation. It was very plain she was frustrated and bewildered that today was the day she was to reveal herself (and me) to my father, the most hard-headed muggle since King George III.

"Yes, he is! It's voodoo, what he's done!"

"It's not voodoo— it's witchcraft!"

Mother could have selected a better term for the situation at hand but there you go.

"Whatever it is, it ain't right and I want him out!" Tobias roared, pointing a slightly trembling finger at me.

I remember at this point I was sobbing pathetically next to my parents' bed, terrified I would be sent to the streets. Everyone was angry at me and everyone was yelling. My small five-year-old mind was on emotional overload and all I could do to express my chagrin was cry and hope for the best. Unfortunately, when Father was concerned the best was a fool's hope.

"Don't be ridiculous," Eileen said quietly. "We're not sending him out. It's perfectly normal and—"

"How in the blue fuck is that normal, Eileen, hmm?"

"Because I'm capable of performing witchcraft as well."

There was a silence in the room that could have suffocated us all. Infiltrating us all equally yet differently. The five-year-old silently crying, the confounded lumberjack panting in frustration, and the shaken wife seemingly agitated yet forlorn. We all sat there staring past one another too confused and shocked to move or speak. It was no surprise that Mother, the least baffled, drew the first breath of speech.

"It's something I've been meaning to tell you for some time. I come from a long line of witches and wizards. I couldn't think of the proper moment—"

"_What_?" asked Father with a look of such misunderstanding you could almost pity his ignorance.

"I'm a witch, Toby. Your son is a wizard. He's not damned and he's not the devil—he's an ordinary wizard who's magic got the better of him."

"Do you even hear what you're saying, Eileen? Have you gone completely mad?" Father asked, his eyes narrowed, his expression apprehensive.

"It's the truth," Mother replied simply.

"Boy, go to your room!" Father commanded dangerously, glaring at my mother.

I recall being quite shocked but desperately wanted to stay and discover more about this witchcraft Mother spoke of. How could my mother, let alone myself, be of magical blood and furthermore how could she not have told me or my father about it? What kind of magic was I capable of? What kind of magic was she capable of? I danced on the verge of asking but catching my father's gaze advised me against it. It was plain that he had questions to ask of my mother, questions that took precedence over mine.

I quietly began walking towards the door, not daring to even glance at Father. As I passed my mother I could have sworn I saw her throat twitch as she swallowed hard in horrified anticipation for the conversation yet to come.

I walked out of my parents' room and almost screeched with startled fear as the door swiftly slammed shut in my wake. I stood at the base of the hall, feeling quite anxious and positively flustered. I was astounded by what had just happened and I couldn't convince myself that it was not some kind of vivid dream.

I slouched into my dingy bedroom and sat in the center of the beige carpet on the floor. Hugging my knees to my chest I leaned my head upon them, making myself appear as small as I felt. I closed my eyes tightly as my mind began working hard to drown out the yells coming from directly down the hall. . .

I don't know when I fell asleep but when I opened my eyes I was curled up on the floor, my head resting on my forearms. The first feeling I had in consciousness was hunger. I was damn hungry.

The tingling sensation of pins and needles shrouded my limbs as I pushed myself up, blinking my eyes lethargically. Yawning as I stood, my stomach gave a blaring growl. In search of sustenance I walked to and opened my door, peering into the hallway, hesitant to leave the safe haven of my bedroom. In my youth I was always hesitant to wander the house at night. I was fearful and unnerved by the looming shadows, and unknown monsters plotting against me in the dark.

Stepping into the corridor it seemed larger; longer, and had the air of abandonment embedded in its walls. I would have thought both my parents had since gone to bed weren't it for the sound of easy jazz echoing through the cimmerian hallway, growing louder as I descended the stairs to the sitting room.

My father was standing before the record player with his back facing me. A cup of what appeared to be whiskey set beside him. An empty bottle of gin accompanied him and his whiskey as they sat in unified brotherhood, taking from one another throughout the night.

"Daddy," I said, stepping into the sitting room, trying to make my voice carry over that of the woman singing on the record player.

_I loves you, Porgy, don't let him take me. . . ._

Father turned slowly, piercing me with a dark gaze. A flash of anger swooped over his face as he set his jaw and glared.

"What you want, boy?"

"I'm hungry," I said quietly, looking at the ground.

"You're hungry, huh?" He asked in a rather pleasant tone.

"Yeah," I replied, nodding lightly.

_Don't let him take me. Don't let him handle me. . ._

He took three steps across the room and stood straight in front of me, slowly kneeling down so that we were facing eye to eye. I remember I discovered a glint in those eyes that I had never seen in them before.

"Why don't you conjure up a sandwich and eat it then?" He asked happily, his lips twisted in a sneer.

"I don't know how," I whispered.

_And drive me mad if you can keep me. . ._

"What, Severus? I didn't quite catch that," he responded dapperly.

"I don't know how," I said with a bit more volume.

"You don't know how, hmm? Well, how can that be, Severus?" He asked looking dreadfully and genuinely confused. As if he was trying to crack the most confounding arithmancy equation that ever was. "If you're such a high and mighty wizard then pullin' a sandwich outta your hat should be easy work for you."

_Don't let him handle me with his hot hands. . . _

I was trying devastatingly hard to ignore my father's current ambience. He was speaking in sweet tones seeming to imitate, rather convincingly, a venus flytrap. His sugar-coated facade was the sweet nectar, anticipating me to fall onto his spiked leaves with a false sense of security before he snapped them shut, trapping me to die.

"If you're as powerful and great as Mummy said you both are then you certainly should be able to feed yourself? Don't you agree?"

I stared at the floor nodding my head.

"Don't nod at me, Kid, use your words!" Tobias snapped, his true demeanor shining through.

"Yes, Daddy," I agreed quietly.

"Well, this I've got to see!" He roared happily, guiding me to the kitchen table. "You know, Kid, I never even knew magic was real!" He explained as he rummaged in the cupboard for a plate. "And to think it's going to be taking place right here _under_—_ my_— _roof_."

His false merriment vanished with the thud of the empty plate before me. I swallowed hard, looking from my father's dangerous eyes to the glistening white ceramic, my hair falling securely into my face.

_I loves you, Porgy, Don't let him take me. . ._

"Let's see it, Severus. Let's see the ruddy sandwich."

I stared up at him, then down at the plate, back to him, back to the plate. I sighed softly and concentrated on sandwiches. I pictured the most vivid sandwich that I could have possibly thought of. I don't recollect exactly what kind of sandwich it was but being five-years-old, freshly ground peanut butter with the world's most esteemed gourmet jelly seems accurate enough. What I had envisioned was for the most part moot anyhow. Whatever I thought up surely did not appear on that damn plate.

"I'm _waiting_," Tobias sang, still hovering beside me.

"I can't do it," I whispered, glaring at the edge of the tantalizingly empty plate.

"What? Can't hear you when you're mumbling!"

"_I said I cannot do it_!" I snapped irritably.

"You little brat!" He snarled taking the plate and throwing it behind him. It flew and shattered at the base of the counter with a startling crash. He swiftly pulled my chair around to face him, leaning on either of the armrests, pressing his face close to mine. "You think 'cause you're a big shot wizard now you can talk to your father like that, huh?"

He drew his hand and sent it across my face.

_Someday I know he's coming to call me. . ._

"Think you're important now? Think you're better than most of us hum-drum ordinary folk? Look at me! Don't you? You think you're somthin' special don't you?"

I shook my head, trying to keep the tears that were building up from falling.

"Well, that is all the same cause you're not. You're a pathetic little whelp. Lucky I didn't throw you into the river the day you were born. You gonna cry, Boy?"

A choked sob, I remember, was my terse reply.

"Don't tell me the high and mighty wizard sheds tears? You would think you'd be too strong to cry!" He yelled.

I shrank back in my chair desperate to get myself as far away from him as surrounding matter would allow.

_When he calls me, but when he comes, I know I'll have to go. . ._

"Now look at me Severus," he growled as he held my chin in his grasp, pulling my gaze to meet his. "I want you to remember this night right here. The next time you decide to use your voodoo against me, whether its blowing up my television or changing my belongings, I want you to remember this night, never forget. I'm your father and you're living under my roof, understand? I call the shots around here and you will obey me. Even if you are some high and mighty wizard. You will give me the respect I'm owed. You and your mother, understand? _Do you understand me?_"

"Yes," I managed to whisper.

"You remember this night, Severus, you remember it always. You remember how you cried and for all your magic and splendor your father still came out on top. Do I make myself quite clear?"

I glared at the armrest, my jaw clenched and my pulse racing. A sharp slap reminded me of who and what I needed to be paying attention to.

"Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Daddy."

_Don't let him take me. Don't let him handle me. . ._

* * *

**Credit:**_  
_I Loves You Porgy By: Billie Holiday

**Author's Note: **I hope you enjoyed chapter two of this dismal little adventure. Look out for chapter three next Thursday.


	3. Part I: Age Five III

**Disclaimer:**  
I own nothing created and or mentioned, by J.K. Rowling, in the books of Harry Potter. This story is a product intended for enjoyment not financial gain.

**Rating: M**  
Child abuse; Language content; Underage drinking

*****This fanfiction has multiple graphic descriptions of child abuse, read at own discretion.*****

* * *

"Severus?"

I rolled over in my bed, the grogginess of sleep still warping my body and mind. The blurred silhouette of my mother was shadowed in the threshold, the morning draft coming from the opened space. Once confirming that I was awake Mother slowly walked in the room. I watched her intently as she sat down at the end of my mattress, where my feet could not yet reach.

"It's eight thirty," she said quietly. " Time to wake up."

You see my parents (more accurately my mother) had a ridiculous rule that I was not to sleep in past 8:30 in the morning. Not so much of a problem at five-years-old, where I went to bed at about eight or nine. However, as I became older and stayed out later the eight thirty wake-up-time was nothing shy of a nightmare. Not to mention by the time I left my father's lovely home all abilities to sleep in had been squashed out of me.

Mother pushed the hair covering my forehead out of the way as she smiled weakly. Mother was never one for proper smiles; no Snape was. As her eyes were scanning my face her expression shifted from almost tender to a spark of angry recognition.

"What's this?" She asked, grabbing my chin and directing my face towards the light that was simultaneously turned on with a flick of her wrist which displayed the ripening bruise nesting on my upper cheek.

"Wow did you do that with magic?" I had inquired excitedly. At the time Mother's magic was so much to marvel at. She had so much _control._ I wanted control.

"Severus, did one of the neighborhood children hit you yesterday?"

"Nuh-uh," I said shaking my head stiffly within the locked confines of Mother's grasp.

"No," she corrected.

"No," I replied.

Mother's eyes were brimmed with fright but full of understanding. She knew what had happened. She simply didn't want it to be true. She knew this was the first but it was far from the last. She knew— but she didn't do anything about it.

"Go and brush your teeth, Severus," Mother said calmly, all traces of her current fear and anger seemingly pushed aside. "Then come down to breakfast."

I nodded importantly and scuttled off of the bed, making creaking and squeaking ensue as I did. Once in the bathroom I climbed up on top of the sink and opened the retractable mirror to grab my red toothbrush. I recall I left much to be desired in the realm of dental hygiene thus I would constantly shirk the tooth paste for I didn't appreciate the texture nor flavor.

Rubbing my teeth with water, thoughts of the previous night paraded through my mind. Being abused as a child is a particularly defining experience. What your attacker forces you to endure isn't so cardinal. What _is_ essential is that you, as the abused, still have this hope that one day it will stop and this terror that it will forever continue. It is a conquering fear that defines you thoroughly, stripping you of your wants, and desires. It can rob you of your sanctity, your sanity and even your dreams if you let it. It constantly consumes you, night and day, until it grows into a dangerous and ravenous anger that leads people to commit all sorts of unthinkable things. There is such violent hostility that you are trapped and infected by it. You no longer care who you were, or who you will become. You become obsessed with darkness— it's madness.

I stopped at the foot of the stairs, concealing myself behind the wall. I could hear my father speaking and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. By some freak spurt of will my quivering legs moved me forward. I walked slowly to the table, thinking if I wasn't sudden I would go completely unnoticed. I was perfectly relieved when I sat and no one had yet acknowledged me.

Mother placed a small piece of buttered toast in front of me as images of empty plates and eery jazz captured my mind. My heart began to pound against my rib cage as my eyes shifted to keep a watch on my father lest he command me to conjure up jam for my breakfast. My fingers earnestly gripped the sides of my chair as I allowed copious amounts of hair to fall into my eyes.

In my childhood my hair was my defense mechanism. Anything that intimidated or made me ill at ease warranted a shield of hair. Being disciplined by my parents: hair. Being bullied at school: hair. Going to a public restroom with multiple stalls: hair. I've never truly analyzed it but I suppose it has a lot to do with why I kept it long throughout the years.

". . . I'll take a look at it when I get home tonight," Tobias was growling as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. The zippers on his work boots clinked while he stood; jingling as he scuffled to the coat rack. He pulled his jacket on, grabbed his work bag and walked out the door without any words of farewell.

Eileen was watching Father leave through the kitchen window. She Almost seemed nervous. As if she were scared he would turn around and come straight back in. Her fingers were anxiously pulling on the charm hanging from her leather necklace as she turned around, seemingly satisfied that Father was really gone.

I was taking small bites from my toast when Mother sighed deeply and walked over to the table. All the while staring at me, she slowly slid a chair out and lowered herself into it. Mother continued to gawk, watching me eat, until the morsel of toast was completely diminished. Even so, she couldn't seem to stop harassing me with her persistent eyes. I stared back at her for a moment before the atmosphere in the room grew highly uncomfortable. I decided to do what most any one would: get up and leave. I was about to hop off my chair when she finally broke the awkward and violating silence.

"Severus, did Daddy give you that mark on your face?"

The events of last night had been endlessly plaguing me throughout the morning. When Mother simply brought up the ordeal, the mere thought of discussing it caused my composer to trickle through my fingers. My eyes welled with tears as I began to cry abruptly, nodding my head indefinitely. As the fear and confusion I had harbored that morning coursed through me, a new emotion sprang into place: vulnerability. I wanted to be held ( as children tend to).

I hopped off my chair and tried to climb into my mother's lap. She grasped my arms and pushed them away from her, successfully thwarting my attempts of receiving comfort. Either I hadn't realized she rejected me or I didn't care but I made a second attempt to climb into her embrace.

"No, Severus," she said quietly, her eyes cast to the floor.

I moaned sadly as my legs buckled beneath me, sending me straight to the floor. I sat there, my cries echoing around the small house, staring up into the face of my distant mother. Eileen looked away for a moment (as if I were indecent) before sighing deeply and hoisting me up by my upper arms. She lead me into the bathroom, placing me on the counter next to the sink. She began running a washcloth under warming water, the sound drowning out my persistent wailing.

"That's enough now," she said sternly, placing the hot washcloth over my bruise and tear stricken face; soothing me. "You know big boys don't cry, aren't you a big strong boy now, Severus?"

I shrugged my shoulders not wanting to be big or strong at all. I wanted to be reassured, I wanted to be held and told that everything was going to be okay. I suppose the washcloth was a start but it only whetted my appetite for true comfort.

"What has Da— your father said about using your words?"

"To u-use them," I sniffled, my cries becoming shallow hiccoughs.

"Then do so," she said curtly while pressing the warm washcloth to the back of my neck.

I sniffed a meager 'okay Mummy' which was directly followed by her lifting me from the counter and placing me on the floor.

"There now," Mother said looking down at me with her hands on her jutting hips. It's my guess that I didn't seem as if I felt any better for she sighed deeply and tilted her head up in thought before looking back down at me, a smirk playing on her lips.

"I have something to show you," she said suddenly before exiting the bathroom.

"What is it?" I inquired following her down the stairs.

"It's a surprise," she replied as she stood before the bookshelf in the sitting room. "Now watch closely."

The atmosphere grew thick as Mother's eyebrows furrowed and the room went unusually quiet. With a swift sigh she waved her hand across the shelf in a perfect crescent. I stood at attention, my uncertain eyes on Mother.

I had no idea she was trying to perform magic. At the time I couldn't understand why anyone would want to do magic on a book shelf. It seemed asinine to waste magic on such a mundane object. Nevertheless, she waved her hand a second time as I looked away. The shelf remained untouched and unaffected. After a third and fourth attempt it began to feel as if I was intruding on her failure. Mother swore under her breath and placed both of her hands on the bookshelf, obviously frustrated.

"Mummy?" I inquired.

"Silence, Severus," she snapped back at me. I quickly shut my mouth and continued to stare at her in anticipation.

Mother began to chant quietly, her mouth unmoving. She spoke the words so softly it seemed as if it were a trick of the wind. Some far off noise carried there by mistake. The pronunciation was impossible to decipher as her body adopted a limp and relaxed posture.

Although I anticipated that Mother was going to demonstrate magic to me my excitement rapidly grew thin. We had been standing at that shelf for over five minutes and my young mind was easily distracted. Just as I was about to ask her if I could go play outside she stood back from the shelf, a fire in her eyes, as she waved her arm in a full circle before pointing straight at the shelf and yelling.

"Abriento!"

The wall began to vibrate as the bookshelf gave way to a narrow passage. My eyes grew big, my jaw giving way as I stepped cautiously into the opening.

"Go on now," she urged, resting a hand on my shoulder.

I didn't need telling twice as I walked slowly down the passage, Mother persistently at my heels. There was a musty smell in the dingy corridor and a chilling draft. It didn't take a registered genius to guess this corridor was heavily ignored.

"What is this place?" I asked her as we came to another entrance guarded by a wooden door.

"Open the door."

I turned the rusted knob and what met my eyes made them bulge out of my skull. I held my breath as we entered the old room, flabbergasted that torches would illuminate at my entrance. Our footsteps, kicking small clouds of dust, echoed around us creating an abstract yet fitting soundtrack.

The small brick room which was hard and cold smelled of waterlogged paper and decade old must. The decrepit walls were chipped and broken, seemingly held together by the many cobwebs decorating their midst. Within the room stood stacks upon stacks of books covered by thick layers of dust and plaster. Old boxes of trinkets and piles of galleons lined the perimeter, pardoned by the occasional telescope or broomstick. A school of moths were fluttering from a collection of haggard robes, scattering to the cracked ceiling, frightened by the sudden disturbance of two visitors. A large cauldron was the room's center piece, assorted potions ingredients, since gone rotten, surrounding it.

"This is the world in which you were meant to be born," Mother announced in a trance as I picked up an old book bound in emerald leather.

"This is all magic stuff?" I asked as I swapped the book in hand with an old photograph of two old-fashioned people gaping back, their eyes blinking sporadically.

"Yes," she answered, her voice seeming to echo for too long in the fully furnished room.

"Mummy the picture's moving!" I exclaimed, shoving the photo of the blinking couple under her nose.

"Yes, Severus in our world the photographs can move about. A true moment captured," She explained proudly.

"They all move?" I asked incredulously, dropping the photograph in search of a more exciting demonstration.

"Yes," Mother began as she picked up the fallen photo. "They all move. Here allow me to show you," she said rummaging through a stack of books until she pulled out a large black volume that had one elegantly written word on the cover: photographs.

She sat on an old trunk, patting the spot next to her, which I eagerly inhabited. She began to speak of all the photos she had collected over the short years of her magic life. From the photo album she carried on with descriptions of books she had, classes she had taken at Hogwarts, her pure-blooded family (which had shunned her when she married a muggle), everything she had kept secret for so long.

As she revealed to me all the wonders of the magical world, I remember itching to inquire as to why she had married my father, a man of nonmagical blood who was turning into a bigger disappointment every hour. I never asked her and I don't know why. Perhaps I was afraid of the answer. I learned some years later that my parents had married because of me. I had come along, unplanned, and they figured they should do the 'right' thing and create a family for their unborn child. What a joke, really.

Nonetheless, I felt very comfortable sitting there with my mother in her secret room where she kept her identity under lock and key. Up to that point in my life I can't say I ever experienced a sense of belonging. Yes, I had friends in the neighborhood and I had family that lived close but I never thoroughly related to them. Sitting there with Mother as she explained the realm of magic to me was the first time I felt— complete if that makes sense. . .

"What's this book?" I asked my mother after some time. I had rummaged in the boxes for about an hour at this point and had come across the most curious volume.

"Hand that to me Severus you shouldn't be reading it," Mother said with her arm outstretched to receive the book.

"But what is it?" I persisted as I handed it to her.

"It's a book about the dark arts. A rather obscure branch of magic used to inflict pain and control onto others. This is not for you," she said as she placed the book onto the shelf where I had plucked it from.

My introduction to the dark arts: a life changing experience. A time would come when I would sneak back into my mother's secret room and steal the dark arts book for my own. I would soon go through a period of my life where I would be beset with obtaining knowledge that was dubbed 'off limits'. That obsession would turn to passion and a world of complex fantasies about pain and darkness that stemmed from my inner and most vulnerable emotions. Where I once controlled nothing, I had the potential to control everything.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I hope you've enjoyed part one. Part II chapter I next week.


	4. Part II: Age Twelve I

**Disclaimer:**  
I own nothing created and or mentioned, by J.K. Rowling, in the books of Harry Potter. This story is a product intended for enjoyment not financial gain.

**Rating: M**  
Child abuse; Language content; Underage drinking

*****This fanfiction has multiple graphic descriptions of child abuse, read at own discretion.*****

* * *

When I awoke on my first morning back from Hogwarts I had a knot in my shoulder that wound up my whole back. I had those quite often in my youth from my cheap box-spring mattress that pressed and pushed in all the wrong places. The tense pressure and tight pain were almost as unwelcome as I was at home the night before.

When Mother and I had apparated in, Father had looked up, obviously startled by the sudden entrance and glared with such disdain one would think he was trying to make us spontaneously combust. This was of course followed by the action of venturing to the fridge and selecting a rather full bottle of vodka and ignoring me and my mother for the rest of the evening.

It would be a lie if I had said my father's lack of notice didn't bother me because it did. I spent the rest of the night in my bedroom fantasizing what I might have been like if I was blessed with parents who gave a damn. I still wonder how things might have been different to this date. I know I would be happier, that much was a given. I know I wouldn't have been plagued by self-loathing and a lacking sense of accomplishment. I wouldn't have been surrounded by darkness thus, later on in life, following what was familiar and pledging my allegiance to the Dark Lord. I might not even had had enough anger to channel an obsession with dark magic. I would potentially be a completely different man.

When I awoke the next day, I crawled from my bed and walked straight for the bathroom, ignoring my parents' morning argument. It had been a whole year since I had been home and for all the time nothing had changed. I brushed my teeth slovenly and hurriedly went back to my room to stuff on my shoes that were becoming too small for my rapidly growing feet.

I hopped down the stairs, jumping the last four before walking to the breakfast table. Eileen and Tobias were arguing about some mundane nonsense that I wasn't remotely interested in. All I was concerned with was eating the damn breakfast and hurrying over to Lily's to be gone from my horrendous family. I had been back for roughly twenty-four hours and was beyond ready to return to school.

At this time it was confusing to me whether going to Hogwarts ten months out of the year was a blessing or a curse. Prior to my enrollment I desperately wanted to go, learn magic, and be away from my troubles at home. After having spent time away, the desire to leave again bordered on sheer torture and it had only been one evening. I was restless and almost quivering with anticipation for the summer to end. Knowing what's beyond the mountain and being kept away from it was undecidedly worse than being ignorant in the first place.

"Mum?" I asked, trying to push my voice to be heard over the arguing.

No answer. She didn't hear me.

"Mum?" I tried again.

She didn't listen.

"Mum I'm done with breakfast. I'm going to go out to Lily's," I announced.

She still continued to argue with my father.

Shrugging my shoulders I pushed myself away from the dining table and quietly stepped out the front door.

A large sigh of relief escaped my lips, dripping with the essence of freedom. Shoving my hands into my pockets I began the short trek across the neighborhood towards Lily's, a definite spring in my step.

The sky was white, familiar clouds occluding the sun's failing rays. The chill of morning hadn't loosened its bitter grip on Cokesworth as my breath spilled from me like exhaled smoke. A fog hovered over the streets, an almost dazzling prospect in the otherwise wasted town. The smell of fumes and sulfur could be detected on the air, a usual scent emanating from the factory. The echos of sirens could be heard over the houses, combined with the soft patter of my own footsteps towards Lily's house.

I can still remember how to walk to her house after so many years. Right on Durante, right on Norine, left on Willows, and a quick right on Maple. Lily's house, although I don't know the address, was the two story green one with the white paneling. I find it humorous that I can't recall what I had for breakfast on Monday but remembering how to walk from Spinner's End to the green house on Maple Street is no problem at all. All depends on significance I suppose.

"Hey, Mr. Evans," I had said as I walked up the driveway. Lily's father was poking out from the garage door working on his cherished blue 1948 Bentley Mark VI convertible.

"Oh, Severus perfect! Come on over here," he said, waving his hand in a welcoming gesture.

I walked over to him and awkwardly peered into the engine of the old car, my hands securely wedged in my pockets.

"I need you to hold this torch up," he explained handing me a small mag-light. "Point it right here at the piston."

I was well aware it was social custom for males to be obsessed with cars. So, naturally I had absolutely no interest in them what's so ever. I could never understand the fascination. Well. . . I couldn't understand the fascination then. Eventually I developed a passion for the automotive vehicle. I drove one for the first time when I was fourteen and it was the mechanics of the combustive engine that intrigued me. With just the touch of my foot I could go faster than any broom manufactured in the 1970s. After that experience I had become quite interested in cars and learned all I could about them. It was sort of my guilty pleasure, given the company I kept: pure bloods and death eaters. Nonetheless, you could usually find at least one magazine or book dedicated to cars in my room from that point on.

Anyway although I knew next to nothing about automobiles at the age of twelve I figured if I wanted to be married to Lily (which I was set on doing by the time I was twenty) then I would need to play at her father's good side. Sharing a common interest seemed like a perfect avenue to obtain his approval. I decided to pretend that I knew a lot and was very intrigued about cars.

"What's wrong with her?" I asked, trying to sound as if I called inanimate objects by female pronouns all the time.

"Ah, well I think the engine is hydro-locked. I was driving it a couple days ago, went through a nasty puddle. Hasn't worked right ever since."

"Oh, that's—unfortunate" I observed. I had no idea what a hydro-locked engine was but it sounded difficult to correct. I was racking my brain for anything else I could say about cars but was unsurprisingly drawing a blank.

"Sure it's not the battery?" I inquired. That was the only other car part I knew besides the wheels.

"Yeah, gave her a jump, but that didn't do a thing," Mr. Evans was saying as he dove deeper within the vehicle's bowels. "Pretty sure the cylinders sucked up some of that water."

"How much is that going to cost you?" I asked, thinking it safe to pose a question of money rather than offer a mechanical solution.

"Well if the cylinders sucked up the water like I think they have it's going to be roughly four thousand quid," he said as if pained. I pulled a face of genuine surprise.

It baffles me how much money people poured into their cars. I am guilty of developing an interest in cars during my early teens but never have I owned one to this date. The cost of simply purchasing a car is grotesque. And to think a lot of families; a lot of people have more than one! Not to mention it's almost a guarantee that it'll break down, forcing you to spend more money just to fix it. Then there's all the tune ups, oils changes, and new tires it's going to need throughout its mechanical life. I really don't understand why muggles haven't just invented teleportation yet. Cars are nice for show and have a lot of history but are they practical? No, my research about them over the years had taught me that much.

"I figured as much," I said importantly, trying to cover my obvious shock at the devious price.

"I have to go down to the auto shop and pick up some parts," Mr. Evans said as he withdrew from underneath the hood. "You're coming with me. I could use another man's opinion on what brand and quality would be worth this car."

"Um, yeah alright," I replied putting the flashlight onto a stool as I followed Mr. Evans out of the garage and into his grey 1964 Vauxhall Victor FB. . .

By the time Lily woke up Mr. Evans and I had gone to the auto shop, ate a slice of pie each at the pub around the corner, and began installing the new parts we had acquired into his broken down pride and joy.

This was the closest thing to male bonding I had experienced since my own father took me miniature golfing on my sixth birthday. He of course got drunk and ended up getting horrendously upset at his inability to putt. He created such a fuss that security was obliged to escort us out. On the way home, he nearly killed us four times by swerving and jutting in front of other drivers. It was nothing short of a miracle we made it back safely without killing ourselves or anybody else.

"Hold this pump out of the way," Mr. Evans said.

"This one?" I asked, as I picked up a line from the coolant tank to the radiator.

"Yeah, hold it up and out of the way."

"What are you guys doing?" Lily's voice asked.

I reacted as if being caught doing something I ought not be. I dropped the pump line quickly, spinning on my heels, just barely missing the hood of the car with my head.

"We're fixing the Bentley," Mr. Evans beamed happily.

"Oh, okay," she said with a mischievous smile on her lips. "Well, when you're all done I'll be in my room." She said to me as she turned around and went back into the house.

"Think we've salvaged her enough for one day," Mr. Evans announced as he placed down the prop and let the hood snap shut. "Why don't you go and see what Lily's up to."

"Yeah, alright," I said nonchalantly, walking away from the car and towards the front door.

I stepped into the house and was hit by the enticing aroma of a baking cobbler. I assumed it was Mrs. Evans in the kitchen, so I walked up the stairs as quietly as possible to keep her unaware of my presence. Mrs. Evans liked to talk. She would talk your ears right off if no one pulled you away in time. I usually avoided her at all costs whilst spending time at Lily's.

While walking up the stair case, my gaze fixed on the floor (where it always was before I turned sixteen) my shoulder knocked with another, making the knot there flare with tense pain.

"Watch it, Snape," Petunia growled at me.

"Stuff it, Tuna," I replied quietly as I continued up the stairs and she down.

I knocked on Lily's door, not bothering to wait for words of entrance, before walking in.

"Hey, Sev," she said as she was digging through her drawer full of hair accessories.

Lily really did have an entire drawer in her bureau reserved just for hair clips. She had to have had over one thousand of those damn things. The peculiar part of this to me is they all appeared to look the same; to work the same, but she insisted they were all different; that they accented and clasped her hair in a sea of diversity. Seems like a whole load of tripe to me. Just poor justification for why she needed a million of the same thing. One of the several mysteries about the opposite sex.

"Hey," I said with exasperation, throwing myself back-first onto her ridiculously comfortable bed.

"Have fun playing with my dad's car?" She asked with amusement as she sat on the edge of her bed, simultaneously pulling her hair into a pony-tail.

"Yeah, he's got a uh—a really nice car," I said with a grin as I closed my eyes.

"Sure does," she agreed. "So, what do you wanna do?"

"Well seeing as you slept the whole bloody day away there isn't much to choose from is there?" I sneered.

"Whatever!" She exclaimed, hitting my thigh lightly. "There's still a lot we could do."

"Like what? Go to the park until the sun goes down?" I inquired.

"Good idea," she said enthusiastically. "We haven't done that since we were nine."

"You know there's a reason for that," I observed, sitting up on the bed as she hurriedly donned her shoes. "It's fucking boring."

"What do you wanna do then?" Lily asked

"I don't care," I remarked as I lay back down.

"Well, let's at least get out of my house," she suggested as she opened her door and clunked down the stairs.

I quickly bounced off her bed and followed her through the house and out the front door. We began walking down the side walk, with no fixed destination in mind. Lily walked slightly in front of me, grabbing dangling leaves from people's front yards as she passed.

I remember she used to do that a lot. When she had the leaves in her hands she would rip them up slowly. Shredding them with a delicate precision. Sometimes, if the leaf or flower petal caught her attention, she would shove it in front of my face and go "Look at the color, Sev," or "This leaf is so groovy! Check out all the spots!" We would refer to this habit as her 'flora kleptomania'.

I picked up a stick from the ground as we walked and began lightly hitting things as we passed them. Trashcan, letterbox, light post…

"I can't believe first year is already over," Lily commented. It was obvious she was desperate for conversation. If anyone hated sheer silence it was a young Lily Evans.

"Yeah it went pretty fast," I said with mild interest.

"I can't wait until we're in third year! Hogsmeade is going to be so much fun!" Lily said with enthusiasm.

"I mean, I guess," I responded. I saw no reason why Hogsmeade would have any entertainment value. Just seemed like another place I could attempt, and fail, to socialize in. Not to mention shopping and eating in restaurants was a complete bore.

"You guess? Oh, wait I forgot. If it doesn't involve reading and staying indoors you just can't be bothered."

"That's not true!" I protested breaking the stick I was carrying on my knee.

"Yes, it is," she challenged.

"Oh, come on," I pressed.

"Alright, I'll humor you," she said as she turned around and began walking backwards. "What activities do you like doing outside that aren't reading?"

"Well, there's walking—"

"Walking, Sev? Come on that's not an activity."

"Alright then— well—oh fuck off," I said, stuffing my hands into my pockets.

"See, point made," she said gleefully.

"Oi!" came a voice from across the street. "Lily? Lily Evans!?"

"Who's that?" Lily asked looking over across the street.

A young man that appeared to be our age came running towards us, a can of what I believed to be soda in his hand.

"It's me, Parker," he said, smiling at Lily. "From Bayview Primary," he reminded her dapperly.

"Oh, hey!" Lily exclaimed, giving the boy a rather lengthy embrace. "How've you been?"

"Good, good. And yourself?"

"I'm good," she said happily. "This is Sev,"

"Nice to meet you, man," Parker said, holding out his hand for me to shake.

"Yeah," I commented awkwardly, taking his hand and shaking it briefly.

"What are you two getting into then?" he asked, folding his arms so his can of suspected soda rested at his elbow, his feet spread wide apart.

"We were just walking," Lily answered whimsically.

"Oh, yeah? Well if you don't got anything going on there's a bunch of us over here at my house," he said gesturing across the street. "Care to join us?"

"Yeah, that'd be great!" Lily exclaimed excitedly. "Come on, Sev."

I'm not sure I can put into words the dread that was coursing through my veins at this moment. It will suffice to say I was borderline mortified. The only thing that could have possibly been worse than being in a group of people, which, by age were constituted as my peers, was being in a group of muggles. Nonetheless, I followed Lily across the street and into Parker's house. Although you cannot truly call what was on the other side of the door a house. At one point it may have been a home but now it was simply— chaos. . .

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**Author's Note: **Another chapter down. I would like to thank those of you who are reading my fanfiction and to the very few of you that have given me feedback. I appreciate it a lot. Stay tuned for part II chapter II.


	5. Part II: Age Twelve II

**Disclaimer:**  
I own nothing created and or mentioned, by J.K. Rowling, in the books of Harry Potter. This story is a product intended for enjoyment not financial gain.

**Rating: M**  
Child abuse; Language content; Underage drinking

*****This fanfiction has multiple graphic descriptions of child abuse, read at own discretion.*****

* * *

Inside Parker's house were such a number of children it could have easily been the entire Slytherin house plus half the Hufflepuffs. Crooked paintings and photographs decked the beer stained walls while the surrounding bookshelves and items appeared to be in complete disarray. The room was hazy with the smoke of multiple cigarettes, dozens of joints, and Merlin only knows what else. Loud obnoxious music pounded mercilessly from the stereo combining with the tasteless orchestra of mundane chatter. The floor was littered with plastic cups and empty cans (this is when I realized the can Parker was carrying was most likely beer and not soda). Needless to say my discomfort about being introduced to a party intensified by at least one hundred.

"Can I get you a beer?" Parker asked to Lily. He was standing a little too close to her for my comfort, his gaze lingering a little too long.

I was very interested to hear her reply. I had never known Lily to abuse alcohol or drugs but wasn't convinced she would say no. We were only twelve mind you and when preteens are presented with an opportunity to appear or act mature, nine times out of ten they take it.

"Sure," she said attempting to sound casual but making it all too clear how excited she was about being offered an alcoholic beverage.

"Lily, what are we doing here?" I asked in her ear once Parker had left to fetch the alcohol.

"It's a party, Sev, a real party!"

"You're going to drink beer? You don't drink Lily, come on we don't belong here," I reasoned, trying to make her see the total error of her ways.

"Give it a chance, Sev, you might surprise yourself and have fun—thanks!" She said as Parker handed her a cool can, ripe with condensation.

"Got one for you too, Mate," he said thrusting a beer into my hand.

Lily had already opened hers up and had taken a sip, attempting to hide her aversion to the taste by taking another. I looked down at my unopened can then around at all the belligerent pre-teens that were on a one-way ticket to failure.

"Don't just stare it, now," Parker said, elbowing me playfully.

I looked down at Lily who responded by wriggling her eyebrows encouragingly at me. Surely one beer wouldn't send me on an uncontrollable downwards spiral. Surely one beer wouldn't condemn me to alcoholism like my father. I heaved a sigh and opened the can, slowly letting the contents trickle down my throat. Such a horrible taste really. . .

"One…two…three!" Lily called as we all stood around the counter, throwing shots of vodka into our mouths.

I let the shot slide down, immediately reaching for the cup of water I had placed on stand-by to chase the taste out of my mouth. The burning sensation quickly flushed away leaving the warm explosion of bliss to fester in my stomach. I was pleasantly buzzed, continuously sipping my water, when Parker came up beside me, placing his hand on my shoulder.

"Hey, Sev lemme ask you something," he said turning me around so we were facing the wall, cut off from all the others in the kitchen. "You and Lily, are you guys. . .?"

"Yeah," I said nodding my head importantly.

I could tell from the get-go this guy was interested in Lily. I knew it might not have been the brightest idea to lie about our platonic relationship but I was drunk and thought there was a lot at stake because Lily was pissed too.

"Ah, well you're a lucky guy," he said clapping me on the back. "I'll bet she's a wild one. The hot ones always are!"

My first impulse was to punch the boy for his devious innuendo. However, starting physical fights was never a forte of mine and it wasn't as if I could whip out my wand and put the little bugger in his place. No, I had to play it passively, and thank Merlin I was level headed enough to realize it.

"You have no idea," I said mechanically.

This answer seemed to be the correct one for Parker howled with laughter, congratulating me with something along the lines of, 'that's my boy,' or some other ludicrous dialogue. He stayed there for a moment, enticed by my false sexual exploitations before nonchalantly floating over to another group of his peers.

I smiled to myself thinking it nice to be with Lily, even if it was in falsehood. At least one person on this planet thought she was mine (besides Petunia Evans). That brought peace and happiness to my young and intoxicated brain as I felt someone else clamp on my shoulder.

"Hey, Sev I gotta be home soon and we gotta walk a little ways, wanna go?"

"Yeah," I said quickly, placing my cup of water onto the counter and following my best friend out.

"Look what I got from some girl?" She said happily once we were a block or two away. She pulled out one cigarette with a yellow filter.

"If you wanted a cigarette you should have asked me. My father has boxes and boxes of 'em," I informed her.

"Have you ever tried one?"

"No, I try to do everything the opposite of my father," I described ineloquently.

"Will you smoke this one with me? I've never tried them either and I don't wanna do it alone," She said, grabbing my arm and resting her head on my shoulder.

"Uhh— yeah sure," I sputtered. Lily was leaning against me. If she had asked me to cut off my leg and sacrifice it the Aztec gods I would have done so.

We took a turn at the old park where we had met, settling ourselves near the monkey bars. Lily put the cigarette to her lips before flicking a lighter (that she must have found or took from the party) and sparking the tobacco to life. She inhaled delicately before her face contorted in discomfort as a mean stream of coughs escaped through her lips.

"Here take it," she strained between coughs.

I took the cigarette in turn and inhaled deeply before being consumed with the same insatiable hacking. My eyes teared up and I'm certain my face went beat red because I could feel the warmth in my cheeks. Regardless of the pain my lungs were currently in I rather liked the feeling of having the stick between my fingers thus I went in for another drag. The second hit is no easier than the first and I speak from experience.

"Sev?" Lily asked as I passed her the cigarette.

"Hmm?" I managed to get out through my own coughing.

"Do you think You-Know-Who is going to win the war?" she asked.

"I don't know," I said truthfully. "Mum says they're keeping it out of the Prophet but he's winning the war. The Ministry doesn't really know what they're doing."

"That's what Alice was telling me on the train. It just doesn't seem right."

I didn't say anything because what she had said frightened me. All of my friends at school were pro revolution (as we called it back then) and so was I. Some part of me knew Lily's and my views differed but I had kept the idea suppressed in my subconscious until this moment. The fact that our different opinions would come back to haunt me was unavoidable. Did I realize that then? I think I may have. It's difficult to say that I experienced such a premonition on a drunken night in June at the age of twelve. What I did know was that it made me gravely uncomfortable to know she didn't support the cause. Then again being muggle born how could she?

"Wanna go inside?" She asked as she stood up.

I nodded as I followed her across the road and down onto Maple Street. We came in quietly through the front door, making our way to her sitting room. Lily sat on the couch, heaving a sigh of what appeared to be relief.

"This couch is amazing," she said happily, allowing her eyes to flutter closed.

I sat down on the couch and gazed hungrily down at her while she rested. I had just began to notice girls in a physical way and I couldn't help but admire her bare legs, slender waist, the flower-like aroma bounding from her hair. When I was younger I was in love with Lily simply because she was the first witch that I'de met that was my own age. Now that I was a budding adolescent I loved her for new and inappropriate reasons. I remember being consumed with the desire to touch her in places I ought not be touching. Being the romantic coward that I was I suppressed these impulses and flicked on the telly instead. . .

"Sev, wake up," Lily said, shaking my still form to life.

"Was wrong?" I asked, opening my lethargic eyes. "Did I fall asleep?"

"Yeah," Lily said with a small smile. "It's 2:30."

"In the morning?" I exclaimed, jumping off the couch and putting my watch to my eyes. My head was still spinning and I swayed magnificently upon my feet.

"Yeah," she laughed softly. "I'm going to go to bed."

"Right, see you later," I said before quickly exiting the house.

My mind was consumed with the trouble I was indubitably going to be in when I returned home. Not only was I out way past my allotted curfew I probably smelled of vodka and that cigarette Lily and I had shared. Not to mention I was still heinously intoxicated. My limbs were heavy and my stomach felt nauseated. Whether it was from the alcohol or my nerves, I couldn't tell. It was best to blame the alcohol and undermine my own fear.

Spinner's End was eerie at night (It was eerie in the day but ten times so at night). The chill of the early morning made the air seem wet and suffocating yet each breath felt genuinely fresh. Every other street lamp was extinguished from neglect making the shadows of cars and houses loom out over the sidewalk. Crickets and lonely dog barks could be heard over the houses, as the rattle of a raccoon digging about a trashcan rang through the neighborhood.

I took a deep breath and unlocked the door as quietly as I could. If my parents had gone to bed, I sure as hell didn't want to alert them of my late entrance. No such luck.

"Where have you been, Severus?" My mother exclaimed, as I put half a foot in the door. "Tobias he's back!"

Tobias wasted no time. From the kitchen to the sitting room he took five long strides and smacked me as hard as his back hand could manage. I remember the hot pain that enveloped my face as the blow came down on me, snapping like the crack of a whip, the compacted sound of skin to skin contact.

Lights danced in front of my eyes as I froze, doubled over. I didn't dare move, not even to put a soothing hand to my enflamed cheek.

"What time is your curfew?" Tobias asked slowly and quietly. His intent was to inspire fear and intimidate. I'll tell you that it worked whole heartedly.

I remained silent, still dazed from the assault to my face. Father obviously interpreted my silence as defiance for he took a hand full of my hair, craning my neck back so I could no longer avoid his gaze.

"What time is your curfew?" He asked again as he intensified the grip on my hair causing my hands to fly to his own in attempts to alleviate the magnitude of his grasp.

"It's—uh—ten thirty!" I choked through bared teeth.

"And what time is it now, boy?" He asked taking up more of my hair and craning my neck back further. I could smell the beer on his breath and it was making my stomach churn worse than it was in the first place. That didn't concern me for more than a second. The pain that was currently radiating from my scalp was all consuming.

"I'm sorry I lost track of time!" I shouted trying to wriggle out of his painful grasp. "Let me go!" I cried.

"It's three-O-bloody-clock in the morning, you shit! How'd you lose track of time for five fucking hours?" Tobias roared as he threw me from him.

I staggered pathetically, hitting the door, gasping for breath.

"I-I don't know!" I argued. I had intended to shout; alas the words came out as more of a strained yell.

"You had your mother worried sick!" He shouted back at me.

"I'm sorry!" I pleaded.

"Not only did you have the wench wasting her time in worrying about you, you blatantly disrespected the rules of this house, me, and your mother!"

"_I said I was sorry_!" I screamed angrily.

"Don't you speak to me like that!" Tobias growled, going for another whack across my face.

I went down with a small squeak, quickly hoisted back up by my father who delivered a punch to my stomach. The wind quickly left my body making my breath hitch in my throat. I groaned painfully, my hands encasing my abdomen as my knees buckled beneath me.

"I'm your father. You don't speak to me like that you understand me?" Tobias asked, towering above my kneeling form.

"Yes," I whispered. My breath was still gone, making the word flutter out in a wisp.

"Speak up, boy," he said snidely, giving my side a little punt with his foot, causing me to sway slightly.

"_Yes_, Father," I urged, holding back a small cough.

"I'm guessing we can guarantee this isn't going to be happening again now is it?" He asked arrogantly, a twisted smile plastered on his face.

I looked up through a curtain of my hair to see that demented smirk on his face and I was overwhelmed with a disturbing shutter. He enjoyed this. My gaze slowly lowered as I nodded in agreement.

"Yes, sir."

Up until I was about nine or ten I had thought parents hitting and hurting their children was a normal occurrence. After I had learned differently (mostly from Lily) I just assumed my father abused me because I was difficult, constantly disappointing and an all-around fuck up. In other words I deserved it. In that moment, where I was looking up at my father who was smiling down at me, I knew he hurt me because it was a true bloody passion of his. This scared me more than I would like to admit.

"Good, now clean yourself up and get to bed," Tobias growled satisfactorily before stomping out of the room and up the stairs. "Come on Eileen," he called from my parents' bedroom.

I sat on the floor, pulse racing, body shaking. I hadn't realized it but my eyes had brimmed with tears and my nose was running. I ran the back of my hand across my nose and wedged the heel of it across my eyes, sniffing back the tears that were threatening to fall.

"Are you alright?" Mother asked, as she bent down and grabbed my arm as if to help me up.

"Don't touch me!" I barked as I stood fluidly, wrenching my arm from her grip. Continuing to sniff back my tears, I huffily went up the stairs and locked myself into the bathroom.

I didn't look back to see if I had offended her or hurt her feelings. I didn't care. As far as I was concerned (and I still feel the same way) she never did anything to prevent the beatings I endured thus being just as guilty of the abuse that went on there. Yes, she was a victim herself to some degree of nature, but I was her son. The mother is the protector. She should have taken us away, moved us somewhere, but she never did. She never did a fucking thing. She only asked me if I was alright after the fact. And _she _was the one with the wand. Useless slag.

I flicked on the bathroom light and cringed at the sight that greeted me in the mirror. There I stood: a perfect mess. Aside from looking paler than usual and my hair in shambles there was a small gash at the top of my cheek producing thin rivulets of blood that trickled down my face and onto my neck. There was a split on my upper lip that had already begun to swell and I could taste copper where my tooth had made a gash on the inside of my mouth.

I remember looking at myself in the mirror, staring into my own eyes and realizing how black they were, how lifeless. My eyes roamed my reflection, searching my face for any glimpse of the twelve year old boy I was supposed to be but couldn't find. I looked tired, lost, too old for my age. I hung my head and squeezed my eyes shut, eliciting pain to my bruising cheek. My fists came down on the counter in one fluid motion, a small manifestation of the anger I currently felt. This wasn't supposed to be my life. . .

* * *

**Author's Note: **Some intense moments in this one, that hope no one found too disturbing. The next chapter is a little extreme so you've been warned. Some feedback would be appreciated since I haven't gotten much for this fanfiction. Do you like it? Do you hate it? I would like to know your opinions.


	6. Part II: Age Twelve III

**Disclaimer:**  
I own nothing created and or mentioned, by J.K. Rowling, in the books of Harry Potter. This story is a product intended for enjoyment not financial gain.

**Rating: M**  
Child abuse; Language content; Underage drinking

*****This fanfiction has multiple graphic descriptions of child abuse, read at own discretion.*****

* * *

I turned off the bathroom light and stalked to my bedroom, quite anxious and very angry. Many questions, thoughts, and emotions were running through my head as I shut myself into my room. One part of me wondered Who did my father think he was? Where did he get off on pushing me around the way that he did? How much longer was he going to be doing this? Most importantly how much longer was I going to be able to take it? However, there was another part of me that believed I deserved the beatings. I had broken his rules. I knowingly disobeyed him and deserved what ever punishment he saw fit to bestow upon me. These were basic inquiries and thoughts that surfaced just about anytime I was punished.

Most people would ask 'if your home life was such shit why didn't you run away?'As I stated before, a part of me believed I deserved the harsh punishments I was doled and this prevented me from running away to some degree. There was also a certain fear present there. I wanted to leave, of course I did, but the fear that wanted me to leave was also the fear that told me I better not. There were several other factors that prevent one in my position from bolting but I won't bore you with a completed list.

Despite the ever present self loathing and fear, running away did brush my mind that night and this was the first time I actually acted upon these thoughts. I can't take full credit for the 'genius' plan of leaving home when thanks were undoubtably due to the alcohol clouding my mind (and thank Merlin Tobias never became privy to that). Under normal sober circumstances I would have never tempted fate in such a manner—Merlin I wish I hadn't run away— I really do.

It was very easy to tell my plan was placed into action in the throes of inebriation. I was set on pissing off until the end of time and I left home with nothing. I didn't bring any money, not one article of clothing, no toothbrush, nothing. I left with a head full hot air and the ratty clothes on my back. The intoxicated me obviously didn't realize that this mere fact would force me to return eventually. . .

I walked down the street, basking in the ambience of what my running away would accomplish. I envisioned my pig fucker of a father being woken by my hysterical mother the next morning, at 8:30 sharp, reporting me missing from my room. In his rage over my defiance Tobias would then begin a lengthy search for me but would of course never locate my whereabouts. After hours and hours of my being gone his feelings of anger would give way to remorseful guilt over how he was treating me thus making him contemplate the error of his ways. I was teaching him a lesson, a fool proof lesson. Sometimes it still boggles my mind how idiotic I was when young.

The places I could go were limited to two options. Option one: I could rough it under the bridge with the other homeless men. Option two: venture back to Lily's. There was really no contest. I began my trek back to Maple Street where I had just been not more than an hour passed.

On the way to freedom I hummed light tunes to myself, my mind skipping from my previous anger to a happier place. I was going to see Lily after all and this inspired nothing but immense rapture. There was no room in my heart for negativity when alcohol was in control and I was heading off to Lily's.

Her house was dark when I arrived. I remember I found this prospect amusing as I covered my mouth to stifle the chuckles trying to escape from my lips. I can't even begin to fathom a reason as to why I found her slumbering house humorous. One of the several mysteries of my youth.

I had to shimmy up the drain pipe in order to localize Lily's attention alone. Her room was on the top floor and thank Merlin the window was over the lattice awning.

"Pssst, Lily?" I whispered as I tapped on the glass. "Liiiily, psssst Lily, wake up!"

I waited for a minute until I repeated the action. I could hear the faint squeaking of her mattress followed by seeing the glow of the lamp before she was poking her shaggy weary-looking head out the window.

"Sev, what are you doing?" She asked as she rubbed her eyes lethargically.

"Can I sleep here?" I asked hastily as I pushed past her and into the room, not bothering to wait for a reply.

"Wha—?" She asked as she stepped back and allowed me access.

"Can I sleep here?" I reiterated as I climbed onto her bed.

"Sev why are yo— what happened to your face?" She asked as worry shot into her eyes.

My random emotions began to shift once more as my recently fulfilling jubilation was pushed aside for what felt somewhat like shame. Although my anger usually took precedence when I felt any type of vulnerability Lily seemed to bring out the more complex emotions that I generally tried to suppress. Such as loneliness, fear, eternal devotion; what have you.

"Oh, well—I. . ."

Lily didn't need anymore explanation. She sat down on the bed beside me, placed her arms around my neck, and pulled me down so my head was resting on her chest. She lightly stroked my hair as I chewed my lip. Her presence and embrace comforted me. It muted the loud anger and numbed the cold pain inhabiting my heart; channeling them to warmth and comfort. We sat together for what seemed like an hour's time before Lily broke the silence.

"What happened?" She asked me.

"What do you think?" I replied, pulling myself out of the embrace and leaning on my knees. Hugging Lily (which I associated with good feelings) and speaking about the ordeal with my father (which I associated with rotten feelings) felt awkward and violating.

"Sev, you've got to tell someone about this, you've gotta call the police," Lily reasoned softly.

"I'm not going to call the police," I said irritably, talking down to the floor through a curtain of black.

"Your Dad can't just keep getting away with treating you like this," Lily urged, her voice going up an octave (as it did when she spoke of something she deemed important).

"And what's the bleeding police going to do about it?" I asked, my temper rising.

"They'll put him in jail," she said softly.

"No, they won't," I replied bitterly.

"Sev, he's abusing you. They'll put him in jail."

"Lily, the police wouldn't care. I live on _Spinner's End_. If I phoned the police and told them to come quickly because my daddy is hurting me, they'd tell me they're sending a unit and no one would come. The police are actually busy with real crime around my neighborhood. A father roughing up his son isn't something that falls under their books as urgent."

"You don't know that!" Lily pressed.

"Oh, yeah you're right, Lily! You know all about how it is and how it isn't. I've only lived in that shite heap my entire life. At the end of the day what would I know about it?"

"Sev, stop," she said rolling her eyes slightly.

"Well, don't give me shit advise then," I countered angrily.

It was the alcohol making me behave this way. Normally I would never lash out at Lily in such a manner. Unfortunately I was drunk, hurt, confused, angry, and scared. A dangerous cocktail of emotions that made me say and do things I usually wouldn't.

Lily looked affronted and crossed her arms duly. She shifted away from me and I could feel the frustration radiating from her body but she didn't ask me to leave. Even though I was being completely rotten to her she didn't kick me out. She never did on nights like that one and there were a lot more nights like that one. This was to be the first of many: running away from home and seeking refuge at the Evan's.

"I'm sorry, Lil," I said as I let my body fall back on the bed. "I'm upset I don't know what I'm saying."

"I accept your apology but you really don't have to take the mickey out of me. I'm just trying to help you."

"I know, I know," I said exasperatingly. "It's just fucked up." I sighed as I closed my eyes.

"It'll be okay," Lily said. I had my eyes closed and couldn't see her but I could hear in her voice that her demeanor and expression had softened. "Come here you big lummox." She said jokingly as she scooted towards the pillows on her bed.

I crawled to her and we both pulled the covers over us. I lay on my back, with my head resting on my palm. I didn't anticipate it but Lily cuddled up next to me, and rested her head on my chest. An insuppressible smile brushed over my lips as I wrapped her shoulder with my arm.

"Good night Sev," Lily whispered, as her fingers traced little circles on my stomach.

I remember I had already fallen into the limbo of consciousness and sleep but I could have sworn she kissed my forehead before burying her head in the crook of my neck and falling to sleep herself. . .

When I woke up my head felt swollen and my eyes were heavy. Any small movement caused my stomach to churn and I had to put an actual effort in to keep from heaving. I put a hand to my forehead, wincing from the mild chill that radiated from my own touch and groaned.

"Hey, you're awake," Lily remarked, turning in her swivel chair and brandishing a huge and welcoming smile.

"Yeah," I croaked, closing my eyes and letting my head fall back to the pillow. "What time is it?"

"It's one in the afternoon," she said as she walked over to her bed and sat beside me.

"Shit," I said closing my eyes tightly and placing my fingers to the bridge of my nose. "I feel like shit."

"That's because you're hung over," Lily said with a little chuckle.

"Wait how come you're not sick?" I asked, almost hating her for how fresh and healthy she looked. "You drank more than I did."

"I don't know. I mean I had a small head ache when I woke up but I drank some water and took a shower. Now I feel fine."

"Do you?" I asked with a sardonic undertone. "Well, that's just aces."

"Shut up!" She squawked, nudging me playfully. "Do you want some water or don't you?"

"Uh, yeah," I replied, sounding as if she was asking the world's most obvious question.

Lily chuckled before pushing herself off the bed and walking out of the room. She came back with a couple aspirin and a full cup of delicious hydrating water. I took the pills with a word of thanks and gulped the cup of water down in a matter of seconds. In the mean time Lily had ventured to the bathroom and I could hear she was running the shower.

"I'm running you a bath!" She called.

I rolled my eyes and bounced off the bed. Why is it that a woman's solution to every problem is a bath? When they're stressed they bathe. For heartache you bathe with the added component of bubbles and bath beads for amplified effect. Have an aneurysm or a stroke? Nothing a good bath can't fix. This being so, it was no shock to me that Lily figured a shower was the obvious cure for a hangover. I never cared much for bathing at all. It was time-consuming, a waste of water, and not too mention I hated the sensation of having wet hair.

"Thanks," I muttered as she walked from the bathroom shutting the door behind her. I sighed heavily and removed my clothes. The water was borderline scalding but I grew accustom to it in a matter of moments.

I hate to admit it but the water did feel incredibly good on my tired body. Aside from the sting it elicited from my cut cheek it was a perfectly enjoyable experience. By the time I had exited the shower I felt like I had been reborn. The aspirin had kicked in so my head wasn't throbbing, the steam from the hot water had opened up my swollen eyes, all the aches and heavy feelings in my limbs had since vanished. It seemed as if women were onto something with their magical cure.

Once redressed, I hung my towel on the rack and smeared a layer of fog from the mirror's surface. An impressive bruise had formed over night where my father had struck me. My upper lip appeared to be engorged and I noticed when I tongued it, it felt numb.

As I looked in the mirror at my bullied face an involuntary shudder ripped through my body. I knew I had to go back. I began internally berating myself for leaving in the first place. How could I have been so incredibly rash? We all know the answer to that but sober me was just being acquainted to the sheer volume of shit intoxicated me had put us in.

"Well, I should probably get going back home," I told Lily as I walked back into her room.

"You know I think this is the first time I've ever seen you clean," Lily commented, ignoring my announcement of departure.

"Sod off," I replied with a smile as I turned to leave.

"Hey, Sev," Lily called, inspiring me to turn and face her. "It'll be okay, you'll be fine," she said with a warming smile. "And if not I'm only a small walk away."

On my way home I began to contemplate what the worst thing Tobias could even do to me was. Slap me around a bit? I could handle that— or maybe I couldn't. The familiar fear began to fester in my belly making me walk slower and slower before I was down right dawdling. I wished that the side-walk would elongate making it impossible for me to reach my destination. The thought of just turning around and living under the bridge for the rest of my life was seeming more appealing as I rounded the corner to my street. Merlin I was nervous.

As I approached Spinner's End I could see a car parked in front of my house (which was uncommon to slightly unheard of). As I walked closer, the vehicle became familiar. It was a cheap 1971 red Austin 1300 GT Mark III, my uncle Rudy's car. This was a relieving prospect. Father was always in a better mood when his little brother was in town.

This was due to the fact that Rudy was, if you can believe it, a bigger disappointment than my father ever was. He wasn't married, had a daughter who he wasn't allowed to see, was addicted to methamphetamines, lived in the dodgiest apartment in Manchester, and was the janitor at a dog food factory. Within the next year, around the holidays, we would learn of Uncle Rudy's unfortunate and deliberate demise. He would soon hang himself from the ceiling fan in his sitting room. According to my father he was spinning when the police found him but that's a story for another day.

I swallowed any left over hesitation and put my key into the lock, opening the door to my possible retribution. My senses heightened as I entered the house, closing the door as quietly as I could. The naïve wishful part of me was hoping that it might be possible that my parents might not have noticed I was missing. I would soon find out wouldn't I?

"Ay, there he is!" Rudy exclaimed as I rounded the corner.

"Hey," I said awkwardly to Rudy, though my eyes were on my father.

He was sitting back in his chair with a magnificent sneer on his face. That glint in his eyes that usually spelled out trouble was ever present as he gave me a once over. Yes, I was in trouble. I was in very big trouble. . .

". . .Good night Rudy," my father was saying as he closed the front door. I was standing in the living room, waiting anxiously for what ever punishment was planned for me. Tobias locked the door and time froze as he seemingly turned around in slow motion.

"I'm sorry," I said automatically. He scoffed.

With one quick motion he took the beer bottle he had in his hand and chucked it at me as hard as he could. I still think myself to be obscenely lucky because it missed my head (by mere inches) and crashed against the wall not a foot behind me. I shrank away instinctively as my father bounded in my direction, his hands clenched into fists. He collected my collar and shoved me into the wall, dampening the back of my shirt with dripping beer.

"What the hell were you thinking?" He screamed at me. I winced with every word.

"I-I-I—," was all I was able to get out before he cranked his fist back and punched the side of my head. I went down easily, my hand cradling my bullied skull. The sound of crunching glass echoed in my ears as Father crouched over me and took my throat into his hands.

"You're an insulant little shit you know that? Spend two semesters at prissy-sissy-fuck-time-magic-school and you think you can do what ever you fucking please?" He asked angrily, his hands clamping tighter and tighter around my vulnerable throat.

I was completely and utterly terrified. I was always unnerved when my father would beat on me but this was the first time I genuinely feared for my life. His hands continued to produce pressure as my breathing became shorter and shorter. My eyes were bulging and my lungs were screaming for oxygen. I was pathetically attempting to pry his violent hands away but I was growing weaker by the second.

"Thought you'd teach me a lesson did you?" He growled through clenched teeth as my vision began to darken.

I was lightly hitting any part of him my hands would fall on in attempts to get him off of me. I could feel my head begin to throb as my eyes rolled in the back of my head and always the consuming horrible pain of not being able to take a breath— the pain is unbelievable. It's really like no other. It was an absolute blessing when my eyes finally glazed over and I passed out. A momentary escape. When I awoke, perhaps a few minutes later, Father was still crouched over me shouting his censures. As if he hadn't even noticed that I had a syncopal episode.

"Get up, come on, get up!" He commanded, hoisting my weak and light-headed body off the floor. "I'm going to teach you a real lesson, sit down on the couch!" He ordered as he pushed me onto the sofa.

"This is how my father did it. Worked on me and I'm damn certain it'll work on you," he growled as he brandished his pack of cigarettes.

I didn't need anymore clues to know that he intended to burn my arm with a lit cigarette because I had seen the circular scars on his arms and back. I quickly stood up from the couch only to be knocked back down to the floor by my incessant father. He kneeled down on top of me, his knee on my upper back, pressing down with all his weight. I wasn't going anywhere. I was physically incapable of moving him off of me.

"Please, Father, please don't!" I screamed as he struck a match and inhaled deeply from the assailing stick. He ignored my plea as he took one of my wrists in his hand and stretched my arm out, holding it in place. "Please, no!" I hollered as I tried to wriggle my arm free, thrashing my legs to try and buck him off of me and escape.

"Sit still!" He barked as he removed the cigarette from his mouth.

"Please, Father, please, please, no!"

That twisted smile of his returned as he lowered the cigarette to my arm and pressed the red tip to my defenseless flesh. The ember tore through my epidermis without effort as Father twisted and turned it as if extinguishing the blasted thing in an ashtray. I screamed extravagantly as the hot pain coursed through my entire arm, branding me as The Devil's son.

He withdrew his weapon and pressed it to another portion of my arm, repeating the same twists and turns he tortured me with before. I tried to think of anything save the burning pain in my skin but words such as 'flame', 'scorch', and 'sear' paraded through my mind. Trapping me as surely as my father was.

"This'll teach you to fuck with me," Tobias spat as he relit the fucking thing and burned me a third and fourth time. I felt trapped, scared, savaged and lost. I seemed to be stuck in a reel of anguish in which there was no escape.

* * *

**Author's Note: **There's the end of part II for ya. Please do drop me a line and tell me what you think. The feed back for this fanfiction has been pretty few and far between.


	7. Part III: Age Sixteen I

**Disclaimer:**  
I own nothing created and or mentioned, by J.K. Rowling, in the books of Harry Potter. This story is a product intended for enjoyment not financial gain.

**Rating: M**  
Child abuse; Language content; Underage drinking

*****This fanfiction has multiple graphic descriptions of child abuse, read at own discretion.*****

* * *

It was nine o'clock in the morning on July 12, 1977 and I was sixteen years old. This was, without a doubt, one of the harder summers of my adolescent life. Not only did I have to be in Cokesworth for two and half months, I had to whether the storm of my father alone. Lily had abandoned me, Mother was ill, my three-year-old half-sister, Abigail, was now living with us, and things just couldn't have been more hectic. . .

"Severus!" My father snapped as he opened my bedroom door, stepping inside. "What are you doing?" He asked.

I sat back in my chair, placing my quill on the desk, staring up at him with a look of sheer boredom.

"I'm writing an essay," I stated simply.

"Yeah I can see that," he retorted challengingly. As if this prospect made him genuinely angry. "And what are you supposed to be doing?"

"The yard," I grumbled, glaring down at my father's feet.

"Get to it for fuck's sake!" He ordered, turning around and slamming the door shut in his wake.

"Prick," I mumbled as I closed the book I had been citing for my transfiguration essay.

Father had asked me to weed the backyard. He might as well have asked me to re-shingle the roof because our four by four back yard was overrun with weeds and it was set to take me all damn day.

I opened the back door and heaved an enormous sigh. It was much worse than when I had laid eyes upon it last year. Throughout my absence the yard had grown from an impressive display of neglect to a full-blown jungle. There were weeds taller than me, weeds with spikes, weeds with sticky substances on them, dandelions, and all kinds of fucking plants. I'm certain we had at least one of every single weed that grew in England. Cursing my father I grabbed a shovel that was sitting against the wall and began to uproot. . .

By the time the clock read 18:00 I was mostly finished but still had a good hour or so ahead of me before I was done. I had slowed down and began to shake at about four o'clock because Father wouldn't allow me to stop. He claimed I spent all my allotted resting time starting a job at nine that I was told to do at eight. This means I wasn't permitted to eat, I wasn't allowed to drink, and I most definitely could not stop and rest.

My head was pounding within my skull, screaming at me for any kind of hydration or sustenance. I had tried to drink from the hose but found a swarm of ants coming in and out of it (just my luck). My stomach felt twisted and angry, growling viciously at me every few minutes. My head would spin every time I stood up, causing my body to feel hollow and weak.

I paused at my work for a second, putting my scratched and dirty hand to my forehead, swallowing hard. I needed water. I pushed myself up, swaying as I stood, and trudged over to the house. I walked into the kitchen and pulled out a cup and of course, as if on cue, Father came down the stairs.

"You done?" He asked as I began to fill the cup at the sink.

"No," I breathed.

"Then what are you doing in here? Get your ass back out there and finish the damn job!"

"I'm thirsty," I said as I rose the cup to my lips.

(I should have seen this coming) Tobias knocked the cup from my hand. Because I was so famished for water this simple act was nothing shy of devastating. The cup appeared to have fallen in slow motion, swirling to the ground, every precious little drop splashing upon the counter and floor with amplified sound. I could see my expression of chagrin reflected in the cascade as it sprayed all over me, dousing my boots in water.

"What the fuck?" I hollered stepping closer to him, twitching as if to grab his collar.

Normally I would have never stood up to my father, I wouldn't have even spoken up to him. However, people change. I had spent the better half of my fifth year at Hogwarts developing a back bone. I was no longer Snivellus, the shy and meek little boy who was only rash and sarcastic in private with selective people. I was Severus Snape, death eater to be, dark magic guru and arithmacist extraordinaire and I would be damned if a filthy muggle such as my father was going to be pushing me around.

"Well, well, well," Tobias said, pulling himself to his full height (about two inches taller than I was) and looking me up and down. "What are we going to do here?"

"Don't knock shit out of my hands," I warned him quietly; dangerously.

Tobias reacted quickly. He lunged forward, placing me in a head lock, so that I was virtually defenseless. I shouted in aggravation as my hands instinctively went to his elbows to try to dislodge my head from his arms.

"Since when is it acceptable to speak to me like that, huh?" He asked shaking my body vigorously.

"Get off me!" I screamed.

"You better cool off, Son, if you know what's good for you!"

"Get off of me!" I yelled again still struggling to pry my head from his grisly confines.

"I think you need a little reminder about how things run around here," Tobias said, his voice adopting that eery tone when he was amused by something he ought not be.

He walked us over to the stove and turned on the burner. This is when I began to out right panic. I was still in the head lock and had no means of evading him as he moved my face closer to the flame. My little sister began to cry as Father held my face so close to the fire that I became infected by it, the heat scratching my skin. Nothing mattered except the harsh burn that was so close to consuming my face.

"You don't like this do you tough guy?"

I was too petrified to react but just scared enough to think of my wand. I was allowed to use magic in life threatening situations. I believed this constituted life threatening. Gathering my nerves I pulled my wand from my pocket and the result was immediate, like a chemical reaction. Tobias quickly dropped my head as I stumbled away panting. My free hand went to my throat, wand still pointed at my father.

"Don't," was all I said through my pants of air. "Don't."

Tobias' quick display of fear began to melt as he eyed my wand, then looked up into my face. He began to cautiously walk towards me. Like a child approaching a wild animal as not to frighten it.

"What have I said about magic in the house?" He asked calmly, almost nicely, as he continued to walk slowly towards me.

"Stay away from me," I answered softly, my wand hand shaking.

"Give me the stick, Boy, you know you're not allowed to use it in my house," he said as he finally approached me, making a gesture as if to grab the wand.

"Stop," I said pulling my wand away from his grasp.

Father made a quick motion and snatched it from my hands. I heard it before I saw it, the snap of thin wood. He had broken my wand. I had to suppress a gasp of agonizing surprise as he dropped the two pieces to the floor, a triumphant smirk on his lips.

A ringing enveloped my senses as my pulse pounded in my ears. My sister's wailing infected the room as I stared bewilderingly down at the splintered wood that had been the center of my life since I was eleven years old.

"Finish the yard," he spat as he walked past me towards the stairs. "Shut up!" He yelled at Abigail upon passing her. Abby stopped crying instantly as my father climbed up the stairs and out of sight.

I slowly knelt down and picked up the pieces of my beloved wand, tenderly peeling off a splinter that was dangling from the side. Tears welled in my eyes as I pushed myself up, still unable to fathom how he could break my wand without a second's thought. The horror and anger that I felt was extraordinary, the daunting fact of not being able to afford a new one hovering over me like a persistent black cloud. I couldn't believe that he had broken my wand! It felt like such a violation, an infringement of my rights as a wizard. It was like he had broken me. This is, of course, a bit on the melodramatic side but that was how it felt at the time.

I wiped my eyes with the heel of my hand and quickly stood up from the table, Abigail tailing me religiously, the irritating little bugger. She did that when ever Father would yell. Abigail is actually quite a scandalous story.

During my third year I was informed by my mother that I was going to be having a little brother or sister. Not caring at all about the news I replied to the letter with indifference and forgot about it for the rest of the year. By the time it was summer and it was time for me to come home my mother would have been anywhere between six and eight months into her term but when I saw her she was still her usual skinny self. I approached her with inquires about her pregnancy (mainly 'where it had gone?') and this is when I learned Father had had an affair with a Polish woman from work. Anyway apparently Father had never even met the child for three years after it was born until one night this Polish bird comes to our doorstep and throws the kid at my dad. He never saw the woman again and that's how we got landed with Abby.

I walked out the back door, Abby on my heels, and went back to my gardening. Abigail stood watching me, her hair a mess, snot dried on her nose, and wearing the same bloody clothes she had on for the past four days.

"If you're going to just stand there you might as well help," I snarled.

Abigail dropped to her knees and began to pluck the remaining dandelions, leaving me to deal with the less enjoyable weeds with thorns and what not. It wasn't much but it was better than no help at all. . .

When we were finished weeding I picked Abby up and we went inside. It was eight o'clock at night and we were both famished and tired beyond recognition. Tobias was on the couch, watching the telly as I put Abigail back on her feet. As we were just becoming settled Father ordered me to arrange dinner.

I glowered internally but mechanically turned into the kitchen to search for something that would suit us for dinner. I found an old box of pasta noodles, some dodgy looking pork chops, and in the back of the cabinet was a can of chicken broth for Mum. . .

"It's done!" I called into the sitting room. Father and Abigail came into the kitchen and served themselves the meager supper before settling down at the table. I, however, was fixing a bowl of broth to carry up to my mother.

I knocked on the door, being granted access by a strained 'come in'. Mother was where she always was these days: resting uncomfortably in bed. There was a lining of sweat around her body where her perspiration had soaked the bed spread forcing her to lie all day in the dampness. Her hair had grown stringy and greased, being just as wet with perspiration as the sheets beneath her. Her eyes were distant and unapproachable as if she was already dead. Her body, once thin as it were, was mere skin and bones that looked brittle enough to break from a strong gust of wind.

"I've brought you some broth," I said gesturing to the steaming bowl in my hand. "Do you feel up to feeding yourself today or do you need my help?" I asked as I sat at the edge of her bed.

Mother licked her cracked lips and shook her head, gesturing for me to place the bowl on the side table. A shower of relief spread through me, I detested when she was so weak that I was forced to feed her. The only reason I was even bothering to care for her was because Father would bust my ass if I refused. That woman never did anything for me so I certainly didn't owe her any luxuries. Nonetheless, despite my supposed aversion to caring for her, I checked to see that she had enough water at her bedside as I asked her if she wanted or needed anything else.

"No, thank you," she replied in a whisper. I stood from the bed and left as fast as I could without obviously hurrying.

Mother had fallen ill sometime in the beginning of my fifth year and by the time I had come home that summer she was most definitely on her death-bed. One might ask why she was at home and not in a proper hospital? Over all the years my father had never placed me or my mother onto his health benefits from work. That would cost too much and shorten his wages. This being so we could never afford to take her to hospital. We didn't even know what was killing her. It could have been a parasite, kidney failure, a brain tumor. It might've been anything. After the fact, once she had a state authorized autopsy, we found out it was mets cancer. The medical examiner said it started in her stomach and had spread to her liver and peritoneum, the lining of her abdominal cavity.

I came back down to the kitchen to find Abby dining alone.

"Where'd Father go?" I asked.

"He went to check the outside," she said pointing to the back yard. I swallowed hard and sat down opposite my sister.

Fear began to rise in my stomach as my heart sank within my chest. If he wasn't satisfied with the weeding I'd get a lashing. I picked up my fork and knife and held them firmly in my hands, mostly to keep them still and stop them from shaking. It meant the world to me at that age to appear as though Father didn't frightened me. Muggles didn't frighten wizards. I, of course, was in complete denial. That man never stopped making me ill at ease until the day he died.

Father came back inside, slamming the door behind him.

"All day you've been out there, all damn day!" He hollered as he walked towards the table, leaning on the surface beside me.

I didn't respond to his riveting observation, I simply stared at the wall behind Abby's head, ignoring him completely. Father didn't seem to appreciate me brushing him off thus he slammed his fists on the table making everything clatter and causing Abigail to shriek in surprise.

"There are still weeds lining the fence," he growled, pointing towards the backdoor.

"I'm not going back out there," I stated, my eyes shifting apprehensively.

"Oh, really?" Tobias asked as he leaned in closer, "and what makes you think that?"

"I haven't eaten or drank anything all day, I'm staying right here. If you want the weeds done you do it," I replied quietly, my eyes on my plate

"Is that so?" Father asked, his demeanor growing menacing. "You're hungry then boy? Going to stay put right here and eat?"

"Yeah," I replied as I finally turned my head and looked up at him.

"By all means!" Father roared as he picked up the pork chop from my plate and pushed it into my mouth. I instantly began to gag as he used his other hand to trap my head and keep me from moving away.

The meat was being shredded by my father's rough grasp and my teeth, causing it to rain strips of pork onto the table. My father took a handful of pasta and tried forcing that into my mouth as well, all the while yelling things such as 'you wanted to eat, huh'? Or 'here have some more meat'. I was coughing up bits of food and cutting my throat from swallowing big pieces whole. No matter how hard I seemed to thrash and pull, his grip on my head would not give way.

Eventually he either got bored or figured my punishment was doled for his grip faltered before he stepped back with a satisfied grin on his lips. I, however, was doubled over and gasping for air. Whole chunks of food and dribbles of vomit flying from my mouth as I coughed and panted obsessively.

"Well, you've eaten. Get back out there and finish the yard," Tobias commanded dangerously.

I looked up at him with an expression of utmost loathing. When I didn't move towards the yard, and only continued to glower at him, my father's demented sneer stumbled as he took me by the back of my neck and pushed me towards the door. He wordlessly threw me outside like a misbehaved dog before slamming the door shut and locking it with a snap.

I sat in the yard where I had fallen, glaring at the house and fuming uncontrollably as I pushed myself off the ground. Looking up at the stars, a sense of heaviness rained down on me as I bit my lip to satiate the aching in my heart. If life was this hard why was it worth living? I was scared and alone with no kind of stability or sanctuary in my life to remedy my pain or anger. My home and school life were two of a kind as I was bullied indiscriminately in both places. The only person who had ever cared about me refused to speak to me and everyone that was supposed to love me did the opposite. There seemed to be no escape. I closed my eyes as I dropped to my knees, swallowed the lump in my throat, and I kept on weeding that bloody garden. As I had done throughout my life I ignored my anguish because there was nothing else I could do. I had no other alternatives. So, I angrily pulled up the roots, and violently threw them to the bins all the while willing myself to feel numb; absolute vacuity. This was my life and unfortunately I had to accept it or get out. . .


	8. Part III: Age Sixteen II

**Disclaimer:**  
I own nothing created and or mentioned, by J.K. Rowling, in the books of Harry Potter. This story is a product intended for enjoyment not financial gain.

**Rating: M**  
Child abuse; Language content; Underage drinking

*****This fanfiction has multiple graphic descriptions of child abuse, read at own discretion.*****

* * *

How any man could argue with his dying wife was beyond me. Nonetheless, there I was, barricaded in my bedroom trying to drown out the noise coming from the next room.

Over the past few weeks Mother had grown delirious and disoriented to everything going on around her. On more than one occasion she couldn't tell you what time of the day it was or even where she was. She would mumble things that made no sense and sometimes it would get to the point where she wouldn't even recognize me or my father. Her now constant confusion was wearing at Tobias' patience and his temper was short enough to holler at a woman on her death-bed.

I adjusted the pillow under my head, folding it for volume, dropping the book in my hands in the process. It seemed as if all the little things in the world were chewing at my nerves, driving me to the verge of insanity. I had dropped my quill behind my bed, got the pocket of my jacket caught on the door knob resultantly ripping it, stubbed my toe twice, spilled a cup of water, and these examples were just for starters. I was having what we would call a bad day.

A sigh of exasperation slipped through my lips as I bent over my bed and retrieved my fallen book from the floor. I was mildly irritated to discover that I had subsequently lost my place and had to spend the next minute and a half trying to relocate it. As I settled back down against my pillow and my nerves began to calm themselves my peace was disrupted by a loud bang emanating from down the hall.

"What now?" I growled, slamming my volume shut and huffily pushing myself from the bed. The crash, of course, had come from Mum and Dad's room. Where they were arguing (if you can call my father yelling at my mother arguing)

"What's going on?" I asked through the door to my parents' bedroom.

"Nothing, we're fine," my father insisted.

"I heard a crash," I admitted monotonously.

"Good to know you're not deaf," Tobias replied sarcastically.

Rolling my eyes I turned to go back to my room when I was stopped in my tracks.

"Severus," came the strained voice of my mother.

I grimaced and contemplated to pretend I didn't hear her call me.

"Severus, Severus help me!" She pleaded.

I swallowed my disdain and turned around before hesitantly sliding into the room. Being closest to the door my eyes found my father first. Standing shirtless by the bed, he looked angrily in my direction as I closed the door behind me (if things got ugly I didn't want Abby getting riled up). I ignored his wordless warning as I stepped deeper into the festering pit in search of what might have made the crash. My intrigue and concern increased when my Mother was nowhere to be found on the bed. Unfortunately as I rounded the corner of the mattress I saw her curled in a jumbled mess on the ground.

The state she was in was just shy of horrific. Her whole body was vibrating with pain and fatigue her fingers flexing and curling as if trying to grab something that wasn't there. Her skin was shining with perspiration and the repugnant oder of urine was violently swarming her person. As opposed to her deathly pale skin her elbows and knees were reddened and you could plainly see within a matter of hours would be infested with bruises. Her breathing was shallow and quick and her eyes were drooping as if she was struggling to simply stay conscious.

"Father what happened to her?" I asked urgently.

For just a moment I was impressed with just how concerned I had sounded in my inquiry. I was impressed of course until I registered that I was experiencing authentic worry and not putting forth my usual pretend act of kindness.

"None of your damn business," he snarled as I made to lift my mother back into bed.

"What happened?" I asked her as I scooped her up without effort and placed her on the mattress.

"I told you it was none of your business," Tobias hissed from the outskirts of the bedroom.

Mother and I locked eyes for a moment and I searched them for any kind of emotion that would tell me what might have happened between her and my father. I expected to see fear, hatred, frustration but all that met my eyes was vacancy. As if she were miles away or clouded by the fog of the Imperius Curse.

"Mother," I said as I shook her lightly, receiving no response. "Mother," I reiterated shaking her with more vigor: nothing.

"Eileen," Tobias called, stepping directly behind me.

I held out my hand and stopped him from moving any closer as I reached out to check the pulse on Mother's neck. I felt nothing beneath my fingers. Panic consumed me, spreading from my core like water fanning out over a flat surface. My eyes danced in my skull, my hands raised on either side of me in anticipation of an idea that might help my mother.

"Do something!" I hollered as I turned to face my father. Turning to Father for help wasn't my brightest idea but I was distraught and quickly fleeing my right mind.

"Move," he snarled, pushing me aside and grabbing my mother at her shoulders. "Eileen!" He yelled, shaking her violently before repeating the action over and over again.

"Do something!" I yelled again, hovering over my father incessantly. "That's not working!" I informed him.

"I can see that, Boy—Eileen!"

Every time I revisit that night I can't help but berate myself for how I reacted. Instead of maintaining my composer and taking steps to resolve the situation I was behaving like a useless child. Shouting needlessly and running to my father for help; quite pathetic. You see in the throes of my panic an overwhelming sense of helplessness had taken over me, causing me to revert back to the mentality of a younger age and act in ways I would normally deem unacceptable.

"Eileen, wake up!" Father shouted again, drawing his hand and slapping her violently.

I turned around at the drop of a hat and collected the phone on the table beside my parents' bed. I put the receiver to my ear as my hands instinctively began dialing 9-1-1.

"What are you doing?" Tobias asked just as the dispatcher at the other end of the line was inquiring as to what my emergency was.

"My mother needs an ambulance!" I informed her frantically.

"What are you doing, Boy?" Tobias hollered as he jumped towards me, making as if to grab the phone from my hands.

"My mother, she isn't breathing, we need help," I said as I darted from my father's grasp.

"No, we can't afford an ambulance!" Tobias shrieked as he pressed down on the hook switch, causing the line to go dead.

"What are you doing?" I yelled as I threw the phone to the bed. "She needs help!"

"Now, we can't afford that and you know it! There's nothing we can do!"

"She's dying!" I countered with a menacing step forward.

"She's already dead and I'm not paying a thousand pounds to prolong the inevitable!"

"No, she isn't! She needs medical attention!" I shouted as I pushed around my father and knelt at my mother's side to shake and urge her to snap out of her current state.

"She's gone, Severus!" My father persisted.

"No she's not— Mother!"

"Stop it, Severus!" My father commanded as he pulled me up by my arm and spun me around to face him, locking me in place with his grasp.

"What are you doing?" I asked, trying to pry myself free to return to my mother's side.

"She's gone now, Severus, there's nothing we can do! You accept it like a man!"

I hung my head, glaring at the ground, steaming with helpless frustration. Tears stung my eyes as I rose my gaze to meet the corpse of my mother. My father's hands dropped from my arms as a disturbing sadness infiltrated the room. Mother was gone and there truly was nothing either of us could do about it.

In this short moment a cocktail of emotions coursed through me, confusing and overwhelming me. I felt sad of course, drained, and frustrated. A conquering sense of guilt was present and I must say was the predominant entity causing me pain. I felt absolutely guilty about the feelings I had developed for my mother over the years. Where guilt is present there's always an annoying abundance of hindsight. I should have showed her more affection. I shouldn't have blamed her for her lack of intervention when my father was concerned. There was a whole lot of should haves and would haves parading through my mind, making the loss all the more agonizing.

My father slowly left the room leaving me alone with my deceased mother. I cautiously approached the bed and knelt before it. Mother appeared disheveled and gaunt. Not serene and peaceful as I suspected the dead were supposed to look. What had happened in this room that was so harsh that it caused my mother to literally keel over and die?

The tears flooding my eyes were wiped away as an intense anger flourished in my heart. This was Tobias' fault, like most everything else that went wrong in this house. I hastily stood from the bed and hurriedly made my way to the kitchen where my father was already mixing himself a strong drink.

"What did you do to her?" I snarled as I came up upon him. In one fluid motion I pushed my father into the wall causing his glass to drop from his hands and shatter, spraying the floor with alcohol.

There was a half-second; a moment of silence that seemed to stretch on. The sound of the television program Abby was watching echoed around me, mixing with the very loud thumping of my heart. The air felt thick and suffocating, as my chest pumped in and out with heavy breath.

Tobias made a noise of frustration and grabbed my wrists. He easily peeled my grip away from his throat before pushing me back into the kitchen table. I growled again before flinging myself at him and thrashing my arms violently in attempts to hit any part of him my fists could find.

"What's in your head, Boy?" He shouted as he held up his arms in defense (while Abigail, of course, began to cry).

This was a revolutionary moment in my family's history. Not only was I the one doling out retribution, Tobias wasn't swinging back at me. He simply kept his arms raised up, protecting his face from my violent outburst.

I kept on repeating my previous question over and over again.

"What did you do to her? What did you do to her?" As I threw my fists and feet in all manner of directions.

Tobias was hollering back only I can't begin to tell you what he was saying. I was too consumed with blind rage to register what nonsense might have been spewing from his mouth. That five minutes is such a blur to me now and I'm not certain it was ever anything else. It was as if I had no control over what I was doing or what I was saying. I was merely a puppet, a slave, to my own misfortune and sorrow. I'm not proud of what happened that night. In fact I would go to the lengths of saying I was perfectly appalled by my conduct. I was so mortified that soon after that night I made my commitment to study Occlumency and to adhere by it's principles. I never wanted to lose control of myself in the name of emotion again. Not having jurisdiction over your own actions is a grave state of affairs and I vowed to never revisit it as long as I could help it.

This whole loss of control and outward display of hatred wasn't all about the mystery that took place in my parents' bedroom and what my father might have done to my mother. It had a lot to do with that, the passing of my mother, and the actions of my father but I was also lashing out in anger that I was harboring for myself. As I explained earlier I was suffering from some multilayered guilt. Consider my father as the proverbial punching bag on which I was acting out my combined aggression, guilt, and bereavement.

"Severus, enough! Son, that's enough!" Tobias shouted over my ballistic endeavors. At some point Father had wrapped his arms around my chest, pinning my arms to my sides causing us both to lose our balance and crash to our knees.

"Let me go!" I whined through a curtain of hair.

"You're alright," Tobias said as he removed his arms from my body before standing up slowly.

I hadn't noticed but in the midst of my frenzy I had began to sob through my frantic panting. My shoulders were jumping up and down as my hands crawled up to cover my face. I howled shamelessly, the sound coming out muffled through my hands as I rocked back and forth.

I could feel Tobias' eyes on me and I could feel his discomfort but I have to commend my father for how he handled me that evening. He didn't tell me to suck it up, he didn't antagonize me for crying as a 'hot shot wizard', and most importantly he didn't try and comfort me either. He stood by my side for perhaps three minutes before leaving me alone in the kitchen to express whatever it was that was parading through me on my own. . .

* * *

**Author's Note:** Last chapter next week.


	9. Part III: Age Sixteen III

**Disclaimer:**  
I own nothing created and or mentioned, by J.K. Rowling, in the books of Harry Potter. This story is a product intended for enjoyment not financial gain.

**Rating: M**  
Child abuse; Language content; Underage drinking

*****This fanfiction has multiple graphic descriptions of child abuse, read at own discretion.*****

* * *

"One more bloody time! One more and you're gone!" Tobias was yelling as he kicked my cauldron across the bedroom, spraying the floor with muck. The damn thing hit the wall with an ear crunching bang, causing the plaster to crack, rendering a small hole.

This had been the third time this month that Father had walked in on me brewing in my room. There was a time, in the not so distant past, when there were no qualms about me brewing potions in the house. This was because Tobias hadn't actually realized what I was doing was in fact magic (as most tend not to). Unfortunately against my own wishes he became informed and brewing was quickly added to the list of activities that were prohibited in his household.

"Well go ahead and throw me out, I don't care," I retorted placidly as I crossed my arms in a display of the utmost defiance.

"Aha-oh really?" Tobias barked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Oh yes I'd forgotten that high and mighty wizards can do anything they want! They don't need the rudimentary skills that us common muggle folk have to tend to— wake up, Kid! You don't know the first thing about being on your own! You think you can just waltz out of here and everything would be okay?"

"I know it would," I responded arrogantly.

The overly assumed confidence of youth. One truly does feel invincible when young. I thought I could care for myself easily with no problem at all. Never mind I had little to no tools to do it properly. I had no job, no money, I didn't have a certification of completion from Hogwarts, I had absolutely no stability but of course I was fit to go out on my own. The only thing I really did have was perseverance. It can take you a long way but if the ends don't justify the means you'll turn out in failure.

"Is that right?" Tobias inquired becoming aware of the definite power struggle going on betwixt us.

"In fact," I said nonchalantly as I stood from my desk chair. "I'll go to the lengths to say that I've been taking care of myself_ and_ you since Mum became ill."

"That's a laugh," Tobias said with a slight chortle. "With whose money were you 'taking care' of yourself with?"

"Yours," I replied haughtily, as if it made no difference where the money I used to supply food and necessities came from.

"So, if you look at it financially I've been taking care of you!" Tobias pointed out as if he was walking me through my most treasured epiphany.

"Financially maybe but for all other intents and purposes I tend to this family. You've never given me anything but the bare minimum if you couldn't get away with less," I challenged.

"You think I haven't given you everything I have?' Tobias replied, his expression like stone.

I had to suppress a bark of laughter that fought to escape my lips. 'Given me everything'—him, Tobias Snape, giving me everything? I would have laughed in his face until my cheeks went blue if my new-found appreciation for emotional control hadn't been in the forefront of my mind those days.

"You've given me nothing," I whispered darkly.

Tobias and I stared at one another intently, both unwilling to look away. He was gnawing the inside of his cheek in anticipation for my gaze to falter and I was looking calmly back at him with what I hoped was inscrutability, though my heart was thumping wildly in my chest.

"You think you can make it on your own then, Boy?" Tobias asked menacingly, as if presenting me with a challenge.

"As I said before, I know I can," I responded smoothly.

"Yeah, we'll see," He said ambiguously as he diverted his gaze from my own. "Clean this shit up," he commanded on his way out the door, his sneering eyes sweeping the room.

I glowered at the spot where Tobias had stood before swallowing hard and heaving a giant sigh. With much chagrin I observed the mixture that was oozing down my wall and making quite the nasty puddle on the floor. I rolled my eyes as I knelt down and put the askew cauldron upright. I noticed the brew was still warm as I cupped my hands and began issuing it back into the cauldron. _What a waste of ingredients_. As I made to pull my hair behind my ear I heard soft footsteps behind me, causing an uncontrollable shutter of irritation.

"What do you want, Abby?" I asked as I continued scooping big slops of potion back into the cauldron.

"What are you doing?" She asked meekly as she climbed on my bed, her finger lodged in her nose.

"Don't do that," I scolded her irritably as I grabbed her elbow and dislodged her finger from her nostril. "I'm cleaning up this mess."

"What were you and Daddy talking about?" She inquired; her finger going right back to her nose.

"Nothing," I responded as I grabbed her elbow again.

"Are you really going to move away?" She asked while resuming her revolting habit . Someone had obviously been eavesdropping.

"Yes, Abby I am going to move away eventually," I told her truthfully.

"Because your Mummy died?" She inquired.

I swallowed hard and shook my head.

"No, I would have moved away anyhow."

"Don't go Severus, I don't want you to leave," She said as she hung her head, looking perfectly pitiful.

"Well I'm not going this very minute!" I informed her exasperatedly.

"But when?"

"I don't know, Abby," I said, trying to keep the irritation that was running rabidly through me undertones. . .

I hung my towel on the rack before flicking off the bathroom light and sauntering down to my bedroom. My hair was still dripping beads of water on my back but I couldn't be bothered as I positioned myself on my bed and picked up my book of Occlumency.

This particular volume was a practice book, focussing on the importance of mental acuity and control. The exercise I was currently practicing to achieve this milestone was of course the emptying of the mind and ridding myself of all emotion and thought for no less than ten minutes.

"okay,"I whispered as I sat cross-legged, closing my eyes. I sat there for a moment as I allowed myself to become relaxed. My shoulders soon slumped and my head grew heavy as all the tension I was using to hoist these body parts up vanished.

I pictured a white fog rolling slowly over concrete. This was my 'nothing' as the seasoned occlumens like to call it. Your 'nothing' is the one thing you picture as you empty your mind of all other matters. Since the mind can never truly be blank you must have something insignificant to focus on in order to bring up your mental barrier. Eventually, with practice, one becomes accustom to putting this barrier in place and is able to turn it on and off when ever he or she pleases.

Anyways, I digress, I was picturing the fog, becoming enticed and enwrapped by the mists, really making head way in my studying when a loud bang interrupted me from my meditation. I violently snapped out of my haze and became authentically startled. My heart sank as I jumped towards the wall my breath hitching in my throat.

Within seconds, when I realized what was going on, I found I was faced with a rather furious and extremely belligerent looking Tobias. With a pint of whiskey clutched in his hand he stood in the doorway, swaying on his feet. For a moment he appeared to be lost as he toppled backwards, his head bowing in inebriation. His wild and blood-shot eyes swept the room until they finally rested on what he was seeking: me. He pointed a threatening finger at me and lumbered into the room.

"You little shit!" He screamed as he lurched forward as if to grab me.

I easily bounced off the bed, and maneuvered around him as he fell forwards, dropping his whiskey and grabbing my mattress for support. He took a moment to set himself back to his feet before he sloppily spun around, his eyes frantically searching.

"What did you do with it?" He shouted as he lunged at me again. Our bodies connected as he fell on me, causing us to fall towards the wall.

"Do with what?" I hollered back as I tried to keep him at arm's length.

"I know you took it you fucking brat, you lost it didn't you?" He hollered shuffling to try to stay on his feet and hold me to the wall at the same time.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" I urged as I pushed him roughly, causing him to be knocked off balance and careen backwards to the ground .

I wasted no time as I made for an escape, briskly making a bee line for the door. I felt Tobias' hand clamp around my ankle and dread consumed me as I was tripped off my feet. I hit the floor on my stomach resultantly having the wind knocked out of me. The tight pressure in my chest engulfed me as I winced, momentarily paralyzed by the sudden pain.

"Come here, Kid!" Tobias growled as he pulled me towards him, dragging my body across the floor.

I was coughing lightly as I forced my shuddering body to crawl forward and escape his clutches. I was thrashing my legs, and kicking my feet in attempts to throw him off me as I used my arms to drag myself towards the door.

"Come here, Boy!" He slurred as he grabbed a handful of my pants, using both of his arms to pull me towards him.

"Let go!" I coughed, straining my lungs to give me the power of speech.

"What did you do with it?" He shrieked as he pulled me underneath him, flipping me around so that I was laying on my back.

"Let me go!" I cried as my breath slowly began to accumulate back into my lungs and Tobias straddled me in attempts to restrict me from escaping.

"What did you do with it?" He screamed again as he punched me in the jaw. Lights flashed before my eyes as his fist connected, causing me to cry out in agony.

"G-get off!" I urged as I pressed my hands against his chest to try to push him away.

Tobias began to beat me mercilessly as I thrashed and squirmed beneath him, yelling and screaming for anyone to help me although I knew no one would. My mind was moving faster and faster as I became hysterical and frantic. I could feel the blood running down my face as I began to feel woozy and nauseous. I just wanted it to be over. Anything would be preferable to this; anything, even death. This was my breaking point. I had endured so much at my father's hand. I had suffered so much pain that at this moment I had reached my wits' end.

Throughout my childhood I was beaten, insulted, neglected, starved, tortured, and bullied by this man whose role was supposed to be to love and protect me. I had stood idly by as I watched him bring another child into his miserable world and indirectly take my mother out of it. Now I was to be beaten and screamed at for alleged crimes I didn't even commit? Enough was enough.

I twisted my face in concentration as a burst of energy collected in my chest. I opened my mouth and yelled uproariously, rendering my throat raw. I channeled this energy in my core and brought it out with all the magic and drive I had left in my semiconscious body. It was abundantly effective, causing Tobias to fly off me as if subject to an explosion. He hit the wall where it met the ceiling causing it to rain plaster as he tumbled to the floor.

I sat up in a daze as I blinked my eyes sporadically, unable to believe what I had just accomplished. Tobias was slumped on my bed and knocked out cold. Relief flooded me as I turned on my side and pushed myself to my knees. I looked over at my father as my composer fluttered away. Tears welled in my eyes as I began to sob horrendously, holding my weak body up with one hand while the other covered my weeping eyes.

I had to act quickly for I had no idea of how long Father was going to remain unconscious. Tears still flowing uncontrollably down my face I heaved myself from the ground and began ushering around my room, stuffing things I would need into my school trunk. I was going to leave that place and I was never going to look back.

It took me all of ten minutes to pack as I turned on my heels and left my room without a backwards glance. My trunk clunked loudly as I dragged it down the stairs, sniffing back my sinuses and wiping my tears as I went. I flew across the sitting room and was stopped dead in my tracks. Abby was sitting near the front door, her knees drawn to her chest, eyes as wide as the moon and leaking with tears. We stared at each other momentarily and she shook her head lightly as if saying 'please don't go'.

"I'm sorry," I said softly as I wrenched the front door open and stormed out without a moment's hesitation.

A wondrous feeling reigned through me as a new spring was introduced to my step. Walking down the dark and dirty street of Spinner's End had never felt so liberating. While the wind cooled my heated face my head buzzed with the prospects of my new future. A future without fear and chagrin; a future worth living for. Sixteen years I had been kept prisoner in that festering pit that I called a home. Sixteen years I had been at the mercy of a mad man who had more insecurities and hate in his heart than he had kindness. Sixteen years and it was finally over. I was free.

-End-

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**Credit:  
**A big thank you to 8note and The Pen for BETA reading this fanfiction

**Author's Note:** Thank you for Reading The Devil's Son


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